


Hallowcinogenics

by moor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:45:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Sirius x Hermione. Post-Hogwarts. Rock-star and leather pant model Sirius Black (resurrected) is having trouble keeping a manager for his booming career, and Harry calls in a very, very large favour with Hermione. (Rated 'M' for language & themes, just in case.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry makes a very special request

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the original books. 

********************

Hermione stared him down, jaw set, back straight.

“Not on your life.”

“You can call in any favour you want, pass any legislation you need—uh, well, that I can chat Malfoy around to—I will pay you out of my own pocket—.”

She raised her wand.

“For the last time—” Her voice was very clear, and very quiet.

“If you don’t I’ll tell Ron you want to reconcile!”

Her wand hand firmed as her eyes narrowed, aiming for the unprotected center of his scarred forehead.

“Molly!” he screamed, his hands in front of him. “I’ll tell Molly you want to reconcile with him!” 

“You utter pr—” Hermione grit her teeth as she forced her breathing to calm, her chest to cease panting. “Harry, this is ridiculous. Go find someone else. He has legions of fans who would die to kiss his feet. Why me?”

“Because you won’t fall at his feet?” Harry offered weakly, still chasing his confidence from behind his raised hands. “I mean it, he really did try to keep this last manager, but things didn’t work out.”

Hermione lowered her wand and crossed her arms, unimpressed.

“Had nothing to do with that harassment suit?”

“He lodged that, actually, after he caught her going through his things and trying to find mementos to sell on eFay.”

“Why doesn’t he hire a man?”

“He’s tried. He’s working on hiring one now, but he said he’s mostly run into the same problem; overzealous fans posing as managers to try and get close to him. He just needs someone to tide him over until he can properly screen and hire someone, Hermione. It isn’t permanent. You have been holing away vacation time to take a sabbatical for years now, and I’ve already checked with—” Harry cowered as Hermione snapped to attention, arms shooting down to her sides. “Er, it was… I… I mentioned I’d pay you, at the beginning. A top-up to bring you up to full salary until you… find it within yourself to forgive me.” 

Her blood boiling in her veins and her stomach twisting fitfully, Hermione’s fists clenched.

“You already told him yes,” she grit out between her teeth, understanding.

“I’ll just double that amount I quoted you. And give you an advance. And… fix your roof.” 

“To start,” she said, holding his gaze.

“Of course.”

Harry pressed his lips together and rolled back on his feet, letting out a small breath. “I owe you one, Hermione.”

“You have no idea.”

“Um, is this a good time to confirm your start date is this afternoon and he needs your assistance at LaVache to fit his newest pair of leather pants?”

Hermione’s hair sparked and crackled, unfurling from its bun and advancing on Harry like Medusa’s crown of asps.

“Right, well, I best be getting to Gringotts to empty my bank account into yours. Here’s Sirius’ mobile number, schedule, and solicitor’s number which you’ll probably need sooner rather than later, and I’ll see you—ouch! Hermione... your hair just bit me!”

“I’ll see you in Hell,” hissed Hermione, snatching the papers from Harry and stalking off towards the park’s exit.

“That went better than I expected,” said Ron, once Hermione was out of earshot.

“Said the one who had disillusioned himself and hidden behind a tree.” 

“I doubt my presence would have added much value to that encounter, mate.”

********************

Hair re-tamed and pinned securely in place once more, Hermione took a deep breath and held it a few seconds longer than necessary. The door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place faced her, slick-finished with black paint shiny enough for her to see her reflection. 

“Frowning is unattractive,” said the door knocker. 

Hermione may or may not have perked up as she smacked it a touch harder than necessary, just to hear how creatively it could curse.

“Bloody buggering Hell, who is it now,” she heard a low voice muttering from the other side.

Quirking her brow, she shook her head, pursed her lips and crossed her arms. 

“Go away!” the voice hollered. “Unless you’re wearing a—”

Hermione cleared her throat, loudly.

Sirius paused.

The door creaked open.

Scruffy-chinned, shaggy-haired and ninety percent naked, Sirius poked his head through the opening to peer at her. 

“I thought I recognized that disappointed sound,” he said. 

She smiled at him. Not very nicely.

Then gave him a mighty shove back into the house, following him on his heels.

“You have a fitting in twelve minutes, an interview one-point-five hours thereafter, a meeting with your solicitor over dinner, and this evening you are reviewing and balancing your chequebook. Now I suggest you familiarize yourself with a shaving charm, a hair brushing charm, and for the love of all things holy a pair of underpants and trousers, or so help me you’ll become intimately familiar with Lavender Brown’s first attempt at a depilatory hex.” 

She kicked the door shut behind her, and cast a tempus charm. “Countdown starting now. Chop chop.”

“Hex? You mean charm,” said Sirius.

Hermione arched her brow again and with a twitch of her wand and non-verbal magic, she just barely held in her smirk as Sirius’ high-pitched protest registered.

“You’re an evil cow,” he muttered, applying pressure to the flaming throbbing. He would have ingrown hairs no doubt. 

“You’re on the clock and so am I. Ten minutes or I do it all myself. Simultaneously.”

He lagged more than necessary—in Hermione’s opinion—and she zapped him again, sighing delightedly in his yelp.

Perhaps she would ask Harry for a new deck to go with her new roof?

********************

“No.”

“It goes or I don’t.”

“You’re getting fitted for new trousers, Sirius, you don’t need your guitar.”

“I don’t go anywhere without it.”

“You get guitar now, or lager later. Choose.”

“... you evil—ouch! Okay, okay. Guitar now. Lager… tomorrow,” he mourned. “Come along, Sisqo, we’re going for walkies.” 

The solid, brass-buckled custom guitar case hopped along with the enthusiasm of a new puppy, chasing Sirius’ heels.

“You named your guitar case?” Hermione pressed her lips together, and shut her eyes. “And after the artist behind The Thong Song?”

“Certainly not!”

Hermione let out a low breath and opened one appraising eye, meeting Sirius’ gaze.

“I named the guitar after him after so many women threw their panties at me on stage.”

Hermione nodded serenely and marched him to the Floo.

And zapped him once more for good measure, a shiver of pleasure running down her spine at his sudden yelp as he exited at the tailor’s. 

********************

The stately, silver-haired tailor approached Sirius with the trousers that had caused Hermione so much trouble already, and Sirius grinned at him.

“Good job, Fathardboners!”

“Fitzharjoners, sir, and thank you. We are always honoured to serve the ancient and most noble house of Black.” 

“A pleasure for me, too. Now, you said you had these ready in several shades?”

“To match your jackets, sir, as requested. Please don a pair of your choosing now so we can fit them as you please.”

“Sure.” He smiled at Fitzharjoners and accepted the pile of folded leather. Then dropped the guitar case in Hermione’s lap. “Hold Sisqo.” 

“I’m not your—” Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply into her lungs. “Get a move on.”

Sirius smiled widely at Fitzharjoners and tilted his head at Hermione. “She’s a right—”

Fitzharjoners suddenly succumbed to a distressing coughing fit, and Hermione seized the opportunity to flick her wand, swishing aside the curtain to the change room. Then she leaned to the side and gently rubbed the poor tailor’s back.

“They’re—meant—to be worn—commando, sir—as requested,” wheezed Fitzharjoners. Hermione stilled and met Sirius’ cheshire grin and crescent eyes. “Built-in support.”

“If you come out of there sans pantalons—” she began, only for Sirius to disappear behind the curtain with a chuckle.

“May I ask how long the fittings take, in general?” inquired Hermione of Fitzharjoners after brief civilities were exchanged and his health returned.

“Oh, with Master Sirius, it can vary greatly.”

“Is he difficult to work with?” she asked, her tone sympathetic.

“Oh, no, not really.”

Hermione’s polite smile froze. 

“I’m sorry, I’m fairly new to the position of his manager; could you please elaborate a bit on… his tendencies and working relationships? And how long should I anticipate for this or future fittings? I would like to set a more concrete schedule for him, to ensure he is not taking up too much of your time.”

Fitzharjoners’s lips pursed. “Hmmm… Well, it depends. Will you be joining him in his fitting room?”

Hermione blinked. Slowly.

“No.”

“Then it should run fairly smoothly. When he has three or four girls in with him, sometimes that drags on.” 

“I would have thought it would be over with even faster. Strange.” 

Fitzharjoners muffled his cough in his hands, his eyes downcast, his smile hidden behind long, slender fingers.

“Are you talking about me?” Sirius called from the change room.

“Only about your unfailing narcissism.” Hermione replied, tone bored.

“If that’s all, would you mind bringing me Sisqo? I’d like to keep my hands occupied.”

“You’re supposed to be putting on a pair of trousers. You need your hands to… what are you doing?”

“If you won’t bring it to me, I’ll come out and get it.”

“For the love of Dumbledore’s whiskers, Sirius, get your pants o—get BACK in that room and PUT ON YOUR—fine, here, just cover it up, Christ,” bitched Hermione, shoving the guitar and case at Sirius as he strutted out of the change room, naked from the waist down.

“They’re a bit snugger than I’d anticipated. It’s just taking me an extra moment to get into them,” explained Sirius to Fitzharjoners, who nodded.

“Thank you for the feedback. I must not have remembered your measurements correctly. I apologize, sir.”

“No, he just put on weight because he’s been sitting around eating junk food on his couch. Don’t apologize to him,” said Hermione. Then she turned and put a hand in front of her eyes as she faced in Sirius’ direction. “And would you please go put something on over your dangly bits? I can only hold the paparazzi off for so long, you know, with temporary charms.”

“Is that why it’s been so boring today? Hey, what are you doing?” Sirius asked, peering over Hermione’s shoulder. His bits pendulummed dangerously close to her collar. 

“Texting Harry. Letting him know the style of jacuzzi I wanted, and where to put it on the back deck.” 

“I didn’t know you were renovating.”

“It’s a recent decision. So help me, Sirius, if I feel any more ball-sack heat radiating off you onto my neck, I will snap it off and feed it to your fangirls.”

“Fathardboners? A quick moment, bring the pins and the extension charms.”

“Of course, sir.”

“The rear needs to be brought up more, for emphasis,” Hermione heard Sirius directing the poor tailor, both men safely ensconced behind the fitting room curtain. “And the waist is looser, slipping.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the thighs feel fine, but the calves are snugger than usual _because of all the tennis I’ve been playing_ ,” called Sirius through the curtain, in Hermione’s direction. 

She rolled her eyes.

“We can certainly adjust that for you and let the seams out a bit.”

“Perfect. Also, slightly bigger belt loops, please? I have my eye on one of your belts out there and think it would really set off the design on the rear pockets.”

“Easily fixed, sir.”

“That’s looking much better. Thank you—oh, and one more adjustment, here on the front placket. Could you make it a bit roomier? Johnson’s being strangled and would like a bit of personal space.” 

“... of course, sir. Would you like the complimentary shielding and privacy charms cast over the placket, in case of… personal need?”

Sirius laughed loudly. “Of course not!”

Hermione dropped her head in her hands, mortified.

She had spent two years researching how to bring Sirius back through the veil; another six months assisting with his rehabilitation; two weeks assisting Harry with the never-before-experienced legal proceedings to re-instate Sirius as a living being with the Ministry of Magic; and a very quiet, very lethal dinner at the end of it all explaining to Harry that she would never assist him with his god-father-uncle again. 

And Harry had choked out when it came to finding Sirius a proper manager for his career as a rock star with a booming fanbase, and come crawling back to her.

Only to have Sirius strut around collecting thongs in leather pants with the impression of his willy on display for all and sundry to admire.

She really had to stop helping Harry. It was not worth the grief. Voldemort was one thing—

“Oh, perhaps a bit more room—things are getting snug in there as we speak. Here’s the magazine back, thank you for letting me check the ‘up fit’, too.”

—Sirius Black was quite another altogether.

“Let me go get my wand and we’ll sort out those adjustments. One moment, please.”

Hermione nodded to Fitzharjoners as he passed, a look of sympathy exchanged between comrades in arms, just as the light strains of an oddly tuned guitar met her ears..

“This is why I needed Sisqo.”

Hermione’s shoulders drooped. Now he wanted to talk? “The waiting?” She called back.

“Is annoying. I could be writing a new song to impress y—my fans, but I’m left to squander my time in a fitting room.” He strummed the guitar, adjusting notes and strings as he went, until a harmonious chord sailed through. “Oh,” he said, voice low, throaty. “That was a new sound.” He strummed again. It shifted to a heart wrenching lament.

A tentative chord or two later, a touch of tinkering, and suddenly beautiful, ethereal music crept through the curtain. A low, raspy, then fuller, voice accompanied it after a moment, though his words were too quiet for Hermione to make out.

Against her will, she couldn’t help the way she responded to the enchanting song. Swaying lightly in her cushioned velvet armchair, Hermione felt her heart swell, her emotions dancing on an imagined breeze through the waiting area.

Suddenly the music stopped, the spell broken.

“Hermione!”

“Yes?”

“I need you!”

“... No.”

“I need your muggle phone device. I didn’t bring my recording book with me. Give it to me.”

“Why do you need my—put the guitar down lower so I can approach you without filing my own harassment suit against you, thank you. Hold on, okay, I’m right outside the room. Why do you need my phone? I don’t have the memory available to record you.”

“No? Then I just need you to set it down in here,” he swung open the curtain, allowing her in and nodding at the stool. “And hold my pants up.”

She glared at him.

“Do it now! Before I lose the song!” He grabbed her phone and dialed his home number, set it to speakerphone, and punched in the access code to his message machine.

“Quick, grab the front of my pants!”

“Sirius, you are out of your f—”

But he’d already started playing again and let go of his trousers.

She made a mad grab for his waistline… and misjudged. 

Sirius smirked down at her as she hastily re-placed her hands and knelt in front of him, cheeks burning.

“That’s a good look for you,” he said, eyes hooded, voice low and electrifying her insides.

“Depilatory he—.”

His voice, rich and hypnotic, caressed down her crown to her throat and into her chest to settle low in her belly as he strummed the guitar above her. 

The music flowed over her as if the notes were his hands, delicate and fluttering, smoothing and limning, his voice his tongue as it lapped at her skin. 

“... with you,” his voice breathed over the guitar, over her, and Hermione opened her eyes and looked up, up into Sirius’ shining black eyes.

She swallowed, licking her lips as she opened her mouth just as Sirius paled and opened his eyes wider, his lips opening to speak—

“—oh, well, I guess this will be a longer fitting than usual, if you are joining him in here,” sighed Fitzharjoners.

There came a great clattering and crashing from the front of the store, as if a herd of wild circus animals had broken through the gates.

“By the way, I think your wards just failed, Miss Granger. The paparazzi have descended.”

Sirius grinned like a mad hatter.

“Good thing we got the hard part out of the way then, eh, Hermione? Best hands in the business, Fitzhardboners, I gotta tell ya, she really has.”

********************

Harry received the text and called the construction crew to a halt. 

“Five minute break, enjoy the catering!” he yelled with a wave. 

They cheered and abandoned their posts.

“What’s up?” asked Ron, sidling around, a hoagie in one hand, and a styrofoam bowl of bubble & squeak in the other.

“She just asked me to pick up a bottle of gin, a bag of ice, and some extra-strength headache potion for her and pop them in the ice box for when she gets home… and something about making sure the squeaky doors in the basement and attic are fixed.”

“That seems fairly straightforward.”

“Yes, that’s what worries me.”

“Well, just ask the guys to go up to the attic and down to the basement, I’ll go get the groceries, and we’ll be done for the day.”

“That seems too easy,” said Harry after a moment of reflection. “Hold on, the phone just beeped again,there’s another message.

“By the way, the moat I want needs to be at least twelve feet across, twelve feet deep, in the form of… the Deathly Hallows. And she said she needs four goats and an early quitting time for the workers, and no questions asked about her wards tomorrow morning.”

Ron paled and looked at Harry, who was pressing his lips together very tightly.

“She didn’t outright say it would be a sacrificial rite.” 

“No, which means we can claim we had no prior knowledge.”

“No need to file anything with the Aurors office.”

“Not unless… no, no, I already saved the world once, they can bloody well handle this on their own,” said Harry, deleting the text. “Go get the goats, when you get the gin.”

“Do you think I should get limes and some mint?”

“Yes, probably a good bet.”

“Right then, see you later, good luck with the moat.”

“And you with the goat.”

Harry nodded at Ron, and put on his best PR-smile and went to wrangle the construction crews. 

“Good news!” he called, clapping his hands to get their attention. “We’re hiring again, so if you have a few mates who are good with tunnelling and digging charms…”

********************


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Interview

The Wizarding Wireless waiting room was separated from the interview room by a lovely demi-screen in shifting scenes from past interviewers and interviewees. Hermione waited on the coffee-stained settee, casting heating charms on her tea as she observed the room, the magazines, the interview across from her. According to some previous agreement she’d found—and hadn’t forged at all, really, just...improved—she and the staff members actively working on the interview were the only individuals present. The fans, groupies, staff-with-nothing-better-to-do and other hangers-on were unable to get through Hermione’s privacy wards. As long as she focused, that was. Which she was. The distraction earlier that afternoon at the tailor’s was strange and unfortunate, but it wouldn’t happen again. Obviously. She was Hermione Jean Granger. 

Sirius and Gerard Gladwell, celebrity reporter for the WWW, shook hands and sat down around the coffee table neatly arranged with flowers, bottles of water and smoking fire whiskey, and a few light hors d’oeuvres. Hermione glanced around; her wards held, no strange faces. With a satisfied exhale she opened her purse of holding and drew out her notebook and Sirius’ schedule for the week to review and plan ahead. Surely she could find a few moments to set up some interviews for him for potential managerial candidates. 

Preliminary application review, to weed out the obvious. She scribbled into the schedule. Thorough review, narrowing down to Top Ten candidates, she added the following day. Preliminary phone interviews, follow-up interviews, reference and background checking. She filled the ‘free’ time in the schedule and calendar. 

Note to self, she wrote in the margin, have Auror checks done on backgrounds of all for violent or obsessive behaviour or extreme mental instability. The person would need to be forgivingly unhinged at least in a minor capacity to want to work with Sirius, after all. Honestly, she could sympathise with anyone wanting to stab him through the hand, he was a bit too grabby always, but constantly fighting the urge to stab him in the head would just weigh down the working relationship. And probably necessitate her stepping in again sooner rather than later. And she didn’t have time for that. Alternately, she may enable a potential stabber if she did have to run interference for Sirius again.

Cheerfully organizing Sirius’ life away, Hermione ignored the interview proceedings.

Across the room and behind the privacy and soundproof screens, the men relaxed.

“Your new manager seems to give you a lot of leeway,” remarked Gerard, lifting his tea.

“I think she’s actively ignoring me in the good faith I won’t intentionally sabotage my career. Or perhaps hoping I will.”

Gerard laughed, and Sirius gave his old friend a rueful grin.

“Holding up well? Your ageing seems to be coming along. One of these days we’ll figure out how old you are, old chap. Perhaps your physical state will match your mental state before the decade’s out!”

Sirius ran a hand through his thick, shaggy hair. “Jealous?”

Gerard held up his hands. “No, not really. I like where I’m at in life. Wife, kids, income, and everything we need. I enjoy talking to rock stars, not being one. Too hectic. If I was tossed behind the Veil and came back as a teenager again, I don’t know what I’d do, mate. It suits you, though. Enjoying the youth you lost? I think the last time we met, you’d just entered what we estimated to be your early twenties, correct?”

“Veering away from the interview a bit, aren’t we?”

“Interview doesn’t officially start for another few minutes. I just like to chat a bit to relax everyone first. You know the drill.”

Sirius nodded.

“So?”

Sirius’ brow arched. “Hmm? Oh, regaining my stolen youth… Yes, I suppose it is good. I came back as a teenager; somehow around the same age as Harry when I last saw him before I went through the Veil, you remember. I think I mentally wanted to make it back to be his peer. Misattributing hanging out with Harry as being with his dad, I suspect. But it was a bit odd to come back and find out that everyone else had moved along a bit, and I was now the youngest one. That took some getting used to. Everyone was bossing me around!”

Gerard laughed and tilted his head in Hermione’s direction. “Some bossier than others. Though you always did have a thing for authority figures.” He winked at Sirius.

Sirius shifted in his seat. “Temporary. She’s setting me up with a new manager.”

“Lucky dog. Any leads?”

“None yet. But she’s a smart girl, she’ll figure it all out.”

“Yes, she is that. Someday you’ll have to share how you got your god-son, The Harry Potter, to swindle her into putting up with you again.”

Sirius tilted his head to the side, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sorry?”

“Oh, maybe you don’t remember; it was so chaotic for you when you… returned. But rumour has it that Harry and Hermione’s friendship was quite thinly stretched by the time she returned to her own career. According to some Ministry sources there were a few rows in her office that even Harry’s Muffliato’s couldn’t smother. Not that many people know, but those of us who work in celebrity gossip were dying when we couldn’t get more out of the story than rumours that it related to you.” Gerard leaned forward and casually covered his mouth with his fingers, leaving a gap for sound to pass but preventing anyone from eavesdropping or reading his lips. “Apparently your name came up frequently, but that was the most that people could make out. There were rumours of Hermione making you a daddy for a while. Combined with the timing of her relationship with Weasley ending, it was like seasoned tinder piled and waiting for the bonfire’s first spark. Alas! Months later, no bump, so that rumour petered out. A pity—a good scandal would rank you even higher on the popularity scale, friend.” He leaned forward, and winked. “Especially with her.” 

Sirius looked at Gerard, his face expressionless, voice quiet. “... I hadn’t realized things were so strained between them, actually. Honestly Gerard, I thought they were just taking some time apart after being forced to spend so much time together for my sake.” Sirius leaned back in his chair, eyes downcast, brow furrowed. His long, nimble fingers spread and gripped the chair’s cushioned arms as he focused on something only he could see. “Though that would definitely explain a few things. Like… Hmm.” He shook his head, smiling broadly at Gerard and composed once more. “So long ago. Yes, it was a very busy time. I could hardly believe what happened, or figure out what to do next.” 

“Says the man living his second life! Truly, you must have wanted to come back awfully dearly to brave the Veil; and now look at you: Everything you could possibly want!”

A static-laced voice chimed above them, “Interview countdown in 5. 4. 3. 2.—”

Beside them a green light flared silently and Sirius’ latest hit piped through the room and over the airways, his velvet voice coating the thrum of the deftly tuned strains of guitar like honey.

Gerard winked at him once more and burst into his introduction.

“Welcome family, friends and fans to another glorious edition! As you’ve noticed, our guest today is none other than a LaVache leather trouser model and consistent Top Ten artist! We’ll be talking music, we’ll be making magic, we’ll be getting to the heart of things—and hopefully, him, all today, so please join me in welcoming the hottest act since before the Weird Sisters, Sirius Black!”

“Hello, darlings, I hope you’re all behaving today,” said Sirius, a smirk dyeing his words in temptation and insinuating anything but. 

“I’ll let you know, folks, we had to reinforce the wards on the studio today before this man arrived! Welcome, Sirius, how’ve you been?”

“Excellent, Gerard, and thank you for having me. Always a pleasure.”

“So, where should we start? How’s life?”

“Life is good,” said Sirius, leaning back and folding his hands together. “I’m not touring at the moment, which gives me more time to eat, sleep, and make merry. And compose more music for the good folk of the WWW,” he added, a smile in his voice. “It is good to be back on English soil again, my friend.”

“Yes, welcome back! This was a long tour and we understand there’s a new album coming soon. What can you tell us about it?”

“It will be a very personal album. It is deeply coloured by my travels and my time away from my family and friends, when I realized a lot of personal truths and faced a lot of my pasts. Yes, plural. I spent some time not only performing, but learning, during this last tour. I chanted in monasteries, with the monks in Tibet; in mosques in Egypt; in Taichung, of all places, I learned how to play a sitar. It was a tour filled with a kind of magic I couldn’t have understood until I lived it. Some of those chants or new instruments will be featuring in the new album. It is definitely my most worldly musical collection to date.” 

“Wow, this sounds almost... spiritual. If you don’t mind me asking, what were some of the truths or issues you faced? How and why did you decide to take ownership of them?”

Shifting in his seat, Sirius re-crossed his legs. “Spiritual? I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you may be onto something. Not that we’ll expect any liturgical elegies any time soon. Well, not Christian ones. My past decisions were a large part of it. I had to… make peace with decisions I had made, and how they had affected others. Positively and negatively. The time I spent with strangers, where I didn’t speak a word of their language, gave me much time to reflect, and to learn about myself. It was there that I took a look at myself and… decided to make some changes.”

“Such as?”

“The people around me, for example. In the music business, as a celebrity, it is easy to become distanced from friends, family, even common reality. With everyone vying to provide you with everything you want, you can lose track of what you need. Your values become distorted. When I was in Egypt, I was separated from my guide and translator. I had to find my own way around. I didn’t know a word of the local dialect, and there were still pockets of armed conflict; yet when I accidentally stepped out of the rainbow of market sooks and into a mosque, following the beautiful sounds of singing and chanting, in spite of being hungry, lost, and I admit, concerned about the fighting outside, I found a sense of peace. I was invited to join in the chanting, and sang with them. It was a simple thing, being invited to join a community, just to be a part of something, but there was a powerful sense of belonging, even if I didn’t know what was going on. 

“I found out later that it was a prayer for peace we’d been singing together.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I stayed in the area for a bit, as we had to wait for some of the skirmishes to settle down before we could safely leave the magical quarter. I returned to the mosque several times and learned a few traditional songs, too. One or two feature on the new album, and you can hear the influence of the chants or rhythms in other songs. It was a very transforming experience.”

“Tell me about these songs, the ones from your new album. Are they word for word translations?”

“No, I do sing an Egyptian prayer or two, in their original languages. Stop looking at me like that, I’m serious. The first is a lullabye, a very gentle song, and the second is a love song or ballad. Still prayers, but with different intentions.”

“Well, I have to say I’m very impressed. Now, I know the album is due out soon, on Friday, but would you be able to give us a hint, tease us a bit, with one of those new songs? I’d love to hear them, and I know we probably have listeners around the UK and the world hanging off your golden voice right now who’d love to hear them, too.”

“Between my golden voice and your golden tongue, we could… I’ll leave that alone, actually, hahahah!”

“Your sense of humour’s still intact!”

“Always, always,” said Sirius, waving a hand. “All right, which song… Now, my voice is a bit rusty, since I’ve just come off a cold—”

“Enough with the excuses!”

“—so please forgive me if I’m a bit rough around the edges. I’ll sing you the love song. I wouldn’t want to put everyone to sleep with the lullabye. Sisqo, heel.”

“Oh, someone’s had a nice polish, yes you did, yes you did!”

“Gerard, it’s a guitar, not a dog.”

“Of course.” Gerard cleared his throat. “So, what can you tell us about this song?” he asked as Sirius tuned Sisqo. With perfect pitch ingrained in him, Sirius tuned by ear, requiring no tools.

“It’s a love song, as I mentioned, and has a long and fabled history. It is based on a legend of forbidden love between two friends turned more, and how their friends and family discouraged them and dismissed their feelings for one another. He was from a wealthy family and she was from a lower caste. The song relates how they persevere and come to forge a middle ground together that unites their families and friends; however, and as it is an old story, you know there’s tragedy about. On their wedding night he passes away but vows to return to her. She waits for him, and sure enough, he is reborn and they find each other again. There are many ups and downs in the song, many emotions, but the pure love they feel for each other is what is important as it guides them to make positive decisions and plans. They never lost hope.”

“... Sirius, mate, I’m beginning to think this story held something personal in it for you. You sound quite touched by it.”

“I identified with it before I even understood the words. When I learned the meaning… It became a mantra to me. It is my hope that others identify with the positive message behind it.”

“Any someone in particular?...”

Sirius opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His brow furrowed, and still he gaped, his eyes meeting Gerard’s, whose eyes widened in understanding. “Sirius?... Mate?”

“... I… yes. It’s a work in progress.”

“The song or the lucky woman who’s caught your eye?”

“I don’t think she’d feel very lucky to know, actually.”

Gerard laughed at Sirius’ rueful tone, and Sirius shrugged. “Honestly. She’d probably pitch me off a roof if I proposed.” 

Gerard spat his water across the room, and luckily away from the enchanted microphone. “Proposed! Sirius the Single? You?” He sobered at Sirius’ pained expression. “Merlin’s pants, you’re serious.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “I think the fans are more interested in the music—”

“You weren’t kidding about being disconnected from reality—” 

 

Sirius cleared his throat again, more meaningfully.

Gerard gave him a fishy eye and pointed the business end of his finger at him, mouthing Later, before he continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, a prayer for each of you so that you find the one who gives you…” He pitched his brows high, meeting Sirius’ gaze.

“Hope.”

“Hope. From the illustrious Sirius Black!”

A strum of the guitar, fingertips whispering along its enchanted strings, Sirius leaned forward and then—

********************

A shiver went down Hermione’s spine as she looked up from her papers.

What was… 

She glanced up at the speakers as Sirius’ voice cascaded over her, washing down her neck and shoulders, chilling and thrilling her simultaneously.

The guitar’s chords drifted off, leaving only his voice singing long, sensuous notes that lifted her heart and spirit before dashing her down again. Like a desert wind that whipped around her, blinding her to her surroundings, she felt it wrap around her heart and squeeze it gently, firmly, before unleashing itself to continue on.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she felt warmth gather at the corner of her eyes, something deep inside her identifying with the longing and loneliness of the raw, throaty tones.

Another strum of the guitar, only a few notes, before Sirius’ voice became the only music once more. 

The strains of the guitar drifted off and once more the voice rose, ululling and calling, then murmuring and enticing in sweet susurrations. 

The rise and fall of her chest responded to the music, soon joining in the unspoken beat, grabbing hold and riding along with the wildening tempo. 

Her breathing becoming ragged, Hermione gasped and forced herself to release her fists, unsure when they’d balled. 

The tears, too long held in check, streamed down her face as her insides trembled, her core strung taught. 

Then, without realizing, she closed her eyes and reached out as the song rose to an emotional, joyous crescendo—

“... for you.”

The spell broke. Hermione’s eyes opened wide and she was trapped in Sirius’ dark chocolate gaze as he watched her over the top of the interview room screen.

Her mouth fell open, just to help her breathe, she told herself. The moment dragged on longer.

Then was broken by the sound of Gerard’s raucous clapping breaking over the speakers.

“Amazing! Spirits, Sirius, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything like it. It was almost like it called to me. What kind of feedback have you had? And is this how it is performed on your album? Again, Sirius. I… I know this will sound strange, but it felt like you were ripping out your own heart, and mine, too. But by the end— and listeners, I’m sure you’ll agree with me— you just took my breath away and filled me back up with everything that you’d torn away, and then some. It was visceral, Sirius.” 

“This was the first time I’ve sung it in front of an audience,” admitted Sirius, finally turning away from the window to sit by Gerard; once more hidden by the privacy screen. “I wanted to make a good first re-impression.”

“Mate, I can honestly vouch for it being the most impressive impression I’ve been fortunate enough to experience, in all my years in broadcasting.”

“And I’ll be slipping you that twenty quid we discussed after the interview,” said Sirius dryly, making Gerard laugh.

“Well folks, I hope you enjoyed that first sample of Sirius Black’s new album, due out Friday. We’re going to take a short break to recharge and we’ll be right back!”

From her seat in the waiting room, Hermione remained stunned.

What had that been about?

What had just happened?

********************

Well, mused Hermione as she swirled her white pear wine around in her glass, the meeting with the solicitor could have gone worse. If she’d lit the man on fire in front of others and heaped dung upon him to put it out, that was. She’d need to speak with Harry at some point, to see what on Earth had been going through his mind when he okayed the hiring of the man. Few connections, ill tempered, and constantly inquiring if she required his ‘many, many quality services, for all lifestyles’ with overly wide eyes and lips, the man had made her stomach heave. She cringed, recalling how she’d yanked her hand from his when he’d held on overlong. Hence the bath. She had debated up until the last minute whether or not to cast an anti-bacterial or sanitizing charm on herself before hopping in, but told herself that bleaching her hands when she got home had no doubt done the job admirably. 

With a sigh of exhaustion, Hermione leaned her head back in the fragrant water against her terry cloth bath pillow, the bubbles covering and relaxing her as they swirled gently with the motion of her jet-pool charm. A wonderful device, that one. With a touch of her wand she redirected a stronger jet to swirl behind her shoulders and neck, then tucked her wand back up, twisting her hair on top of her crown.

Sirius Black, bane of her not-so-common existence. One more stressor added to her plate. She tried to ‘fit in’ and ‘relax’ and ‘just go with the flow instead of taking everything so seriously’. Truly she did. The fact that no one met her standards just kaiboshed those attempts beautifully. Would legislation be passed if she didn’t hound the Wizengamot? Would bills be paid if she wasn’t on top of her (and admittedly, Harry’s) finances? Would events be planned if she didn’t keep track of everyone’s calendars? Had anyone even offered to help take some of that load off her plate so she *could* take a sabbatical? 

And finally, when she thought she might have nailed everything down so she could take off for a few weeks or months to research a few of her own interests, what happened?

Harry needed her again.

Harry would also be in dire need of a proctologist by the end of this, she groaned on the inside. Because she was going to whoop his—

She heard the flare of her floo and sank lower in the water.

“No, no, nooooo,” she moaned, water bubbling as she sank beneath the surface.

“Hermione? Darling? You were right, I do have a chequebook! It’s brand-new. I don’t think it’s ever been used. I’m ready to go over those ‘numbers’ you were talking about earlier. I’ll just let myself through, shall I? Oh, and I brought the accountant’s files, too. It’s rather a large file, though, and I’m not sure what order it’s in, and—oops, looks like it just spilled all over the living room floor. No worries, I’ll just put it into a pile and we’ll sort through it all. Hermione? I also brought wine. And those chocolate éclairs Harry said you liked. And a fruit basket. Did I mention the wine?”

Was it seven thirty already? 

Cursing spectacularly enough to peel paint off the bathroom walls—which she carefully patched up with a reno-charm she’d learned upon arriving home from one of the hard-hatted gentlemen invading her domicile—Hermione lifted herself from the tub just in time for Sirius to step into the bathroom and stare at her.

All of her.

Her hair unfurled from its twist and shot out at him, hissing and shooting sparks for all it was worth. 

—and Hermione stunned him and tossed a cloth over his face as she dragged herself from the water to the doorway, wrapped her robe around her body, a towel around her hair, and took her time getting dressed. 

The wine was delightful.

********************

“Thank you for not obliviating me. I didn’t like having holes in my mind, during the war.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But you could have levitated me through to the main hall. I think I now have holes in my head from banging into so many corners.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sirius stared at Hermione, cool, calm, and collected, as she sipped her tea and flipped through his paperwork. They nibbled on fruit and chocolate together at her kitchen table.

“Who’s your accountant?”

He let out a short huff. “Some relation of Malfoy’s.”

“Junior or Senior?”

“Senior.”

“It’ll be Aquilon. Funny, he’s normally much more stringent in his bookkeeping.”

“You’re familiar with the Malfoys and their finances?”

“Hmm, in passing. When I was an Auror, I worked with their forensics units; I got to know many of the older Pureblood’s… financial habits.”

“... You frighten men.”

She smiled wolfishly.

“Quickest way to ensure a Pureblood’s cooperation with you? Wear your ‘official business’ robes and ask how their investments are doing. While in public.”

She glanced up at him, noting his pale complexion, fixed gazed, and the two spots of colour in his cheeks. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine. Just basking in your ruthless cunning. Tell me more.”

She arched her brow. “Give me your chequebook.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He surged to his feet, eyes bright and shining. And handed her the new booklet. “They monogrammed my initials on it for me.”

“... you can sit down again, thank you.” She flipped through it, becoming more and more confused. He wasn’t kidding. It was blanker than a Lovegood in a snowstorm.

“Have you and your accountant sat down together to review your accounts before?”

“No.”

“Do you know how many accounts you have? Personal ones? Business ones?”

“No.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, and counted soundlessly to herself.

“What can I do to help?”

“Go back through your floo.”

“Yes, and?”

“Just go. I’ll call your accountant tomorrow and settle things with him.”

“... you look tense. Would you like a backrub?”

“No.”

“I can do it topless?”

“No, Sirius. Go.”

“Trouserless? Pantsless!”

Hermione rubbed her temple and reached for the wine, letting it bang louder than necessary on the table when she realized it was empty.

“Naked?” He offered, reaching for his top button.

“The floo is waiting for you. Go. Please.”

“We can both be naked.”

Sirius paused as Hermione reached for her phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Harry. He’s still your power of attourney.”

“But that ceased upon my reaching majority-ish… again.”

“Funny thing, that; somehow it is still legally binding.”

“Why are you—what’s that strange feeling?”

“Pater-bond magic. Your daddy’s calling you home. You can come and play again after never.”

“... could I come back and play nak—ow! Your hair bit me!”

“Good evening, Sirius. I’ll see you in the morning.”

********************

“Well, you need to sort this out with her. I’m staying out of the interactions this time, Sirius.”

“Harry, she tried to bite me tonight.”

“And you’re complaining because….”

“Not that kind of fun biting. Unfortunately. It was her hair.”

“...did she ask for access to your bank account?”

“Well, we were sort of discussing them in general terms, and she’s speaking with the accountant tomorrow who manages things. Why? Why are you sighing like that? Stop whimpering. And when is this work on her house supposed to be finished. I couldn’t even reach her front door tonight. Had to go through the floo. Why are you shaking your head like that, Harry?”

“Sirius, you’re really committed?”

“I haven’t been committed to an insti—Oh, you mean committed to making things work with… Well, yeah. Yeah, I am. Does that… Is that okay? Why are you sighing again.”

“No reason… I just really think you do need to be committed if you want to do this, Sirius. In every way.”

“That sounded a bit more confident! Good!”

“What are your plans for the rest of the night, then?”

“Well, I don’t feel like putting my trousers back on again, so I thought I’d just lie back and—Harry? Hello?”

“Sorry Sirius, connection broke for a moment when I threw up a bit in my mouth. All good. Have a good evening. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

“Thanks for the help, Harry!”

“You’re very welcome.”

********************

AN: This story is written in its entirety. Just editing & ironing out a few last details. :) Happy Holidays, all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bodyguard

“Thank you for clearing me so quickly through Gringotts, Aquilon. I hope it wasn’t a bother,” said Hermione the following morning.

They shook hands before she settled herself and her nicer robes in the plush arm chair.

“Always a pleasure to speak with someone who doesn’t require a map to locate vital orifices, Miss Granger. How are you? I haven’t had any clients rushing to my office with piss all over themselves recently. Are you on holiday?”

“Assisting a friend of a friend. I believe Harry’s been in touch with you?”

“Ah, yes, and Young Master Black, too. I trust he is still alive-ish?”

“As alive-ish as he gets, unfortunately. I was hoping to review his accounts with you to understand his financial status, if you have some free time.”

“Normally, due to privacy and confidentiality I would have to decline, Miss Granger, you understand.”

“But if he was here to give permission, even verbally?”

“That would be acceptable; we understand your unique position.”

“Thank you. Would you mind giving me a moment, and the use of your floo?”

“At your leisure, madam.”

“Thank you.”

A flash of green, a call to Sirius’ bedroom, and a bracing ‘wake assisting’ shot of energy later, Aquilon was alarmingly pale as Hermione dragged Sirius half-stunned onto his carpet.

“It won’t stain,” she assured Aquilon, and gave Sirius a quick kick in the arse. “Wake up and tell this man I have your permission.”

“To do anything,” promised Sirius. “Where am I?”

“Back in your bedroom,” she said, heaving him back through the floo and onto his cold, dusty floor. “I’ll be by at eleven. Be dressed, clean-shaven, and ready to work.”

His response was interrupted by Hermione closing the floo once more.

“I apologise for the interruption. I trust that was satisfactory?”

“... Absolutely,” replied Aquilon, his balls shrivelling to raisin-scale in his trousers.

********************

"Miss Granger?"

"Hmm?"

Aquilon met her eyes as she looked up from her mound of paperwork. Her brows rose as she realized time had gotten away from her.

With a quick tap of her wand she cracked the tamper-proof seals on the files and duplicated the documents within, ignoring Aquilon's sigh of defeat.

"We just implemented those."

"I know, it took me a good week to come up with them," said Hermione, completely unsympathetic. Another tap of her wand and the pile ordered and shrank itself. "Anything else?"

A wave of his wand brought a small flurry of documents, some bound, to rest neatly upon her conjured desk. Duplication charm repeated, she rose and filed everything into a neat briefcase, obviously enhanced with an extensible charm—the same charm she now understood had been partly adapted into Sirius’ pants, she remembered with a shudder.

“I’ll be taking these with me,” she said unnecessarily. “Thank you for your cooperation. See you again.”

“A pleasure, as always,” he said, offering her the jar of floo powder.

She gave him a nod, but paused as his brow creased.

“Aquilon?”

He regarded her a moment, before a small curl of his lip hinted at a smile and he shook his head.

“Nothing, Miss Granger.”

“Adieu.”

“Until next time,” he said, and she was gone in a flash of green and groan of pain. Male pain.

A gentle chime sounded from his desk. “Sir, Malfoy Senior has arrived and would like to know if the coast is clear.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Aquilon tapped his desk with his wand and replied to his secretary. “Please inform him the deballer has left and he’s welcome to join me at his convenience.”

Another tap had cleared the connection and Aquilon smirked to himself.

********************

“I’m clean! I’m dressed! I’m shaved—everywhere, for my lady’s instructions were vague and I thought it best to attend to such matters with a sense of grooming initiative—ow! Hermione, you need to use your words,” frowned Sirius, rubbing his zinging wrist. “And please mind the hands, they are my livelihood.”

Hating it when he had a point, Hermione reigned in her urge to zap him again, choosing instead to stalk into the kitchen—where she skidded to a stop, eyes going wide.

“You renovated?”

“Er, yes.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. 

“Why did you renovate your kitchen, Sirius?”

“Well, it was a bit depressing.”

She let out a low breath. “I meant, why did you bother renovating when you’ve never in your life cooked so much as an egg. Boiled water. Gotten yourself a glass of water, for that matter. Made toast.”

“I did, too! When I was on my own, post-Azkaban—er, pre-Veil—I had to get myself my own meals.”

She felt a migraine creep tauntingly across her skull, and kept her eyes shut. “Yes, but you hunted as a dog or stole. You weren’t cooking.”

“Well, I also thought someone else may want to cook in a nice place. Someday. Perhaps.”

She covered her face with her hands. “Good gods, Sirius, you make your call girls cook for you?! What kind of sick, twisted domestic fantasies do you harbour… No, stop, please, I can feel you about to open your mouth and make everything worse.” She let out a long sigh. “Well, that explains the slew of construction invoices that said, ‘Wifely Needs’. It’s a relief, in its own way.” She had been a bit worried it was something male-enhancement inclined.

Sirius’ brow furrowed as he opened his mouth, reaching for her again, but Hermione shook her head, heaved a sigh, and straightened once more, walking away from him.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s heaps better than it was,” she gushed. “Actually,” she was about to hate herself and regret this, she knew it, but soldiered on. “Actually, it’s very nice. If you wouldn’t mind giving me the name of your reno company, I may give them a ring later.”

She did a full circle of the room, and found him watching her, face relaxed and… very, very widely smiling.

Her heart sank to her stomach… and fluttered. Awkwardly. “Sirius? What did you do?”

“Can I show you the bedroom?” he asked excitedly.

In that moment their eyes met. 

—and then he yipped in pain.

“No,” she said, blowing on the smoking tip of her wand. Hm. If this kept up, she may need to get a resiliometer added to it, to prevent it overheating.

********************

“So, did you and Aquilon sort things out this morning? How are things looking?”

Seated at his lovely, dark polished wood kitchen banquette, Hermione wrapped her hands around her cup of tea.

“Aquilon was a good choice,” she said. Unlike the solicitor. “He has things mostly in order.”

“But?”

She shrugged. “I want to see the big picture, not just the individual investments and expenses. It’s going to take me more than a morning to do that, Sirius. I’ll beg your patience. Hopefully I’ll have a better idea within the week.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. No major concerns, though?”

She chuckled, relaxing for the first time now that they were having a proper conversation. Acting like adults. Responsible adults, at that. “Now that I understand the ‘Wifely Needs’ referred to your kitchen,” she grinned, “I think we’re in better shape than we’d expected.”

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, Sirius smiled at her. 

“Hmm?”

He shook his head. “Just glad to hear things aren’t as dire as you’d believed. I’m not entirely useless, you know. Growing up a Black, I did need to know my way around investments. Aquilon’s fine on his feet, too. I don’t intend to squander what I have.”

Fair enough, thought Hermione. “If I see anything that concerns me, I will let you know directly.”

He laughed aloud, the sound rich and enticing, and far too resonant within her, Hermione thought with a small tingle. Of apprehension. Obviously apprehension. Deliciously warming apprehension. 

“I’ve never doubted you or your abilities, Hermione,” he said, smiling widely at her.

Unbearably warming apprehension with a side of coiling anticipation. Merlin’s fluffy underpants, had he spiked the tea?

“Everything all right?” Sirius asked, the bright shine fading from his eyes a moment as they narrowed in on her, intent. 

“Fine. Just fine. Just thinking.”

“That wasn’t your thinking face. That was your dawning-realization-of-traitorous-suspicions face. I recognize it from… uh… Would you like some more tea?”

“No!” 

He eyebrows rose.

“Er, I mean, no thank you. I’m feeling… just a bit under the weather.”

“Well, with all the work going on at your house at the moment, you probably didn’t get a lick of sleep this week. Are they due to finish soon? I hadn’t realized you were having so much done.”

“Ah… It’ll be done when it’s done,” she said, gesturing vaguely with her cup. What in god’s name was in the tea? When he’d said the word ‘lick’, why, she’d practically… 

Hermione’s legs tightened together as she fidgeted.

“If it gets to be too much, you’re welcome to stay here. There’s loads of room. Lots of bedrooms to choose from. The pool in the back is finished, and the gardens, and the gazebo with the built-in, state-of-the-art, climate-controlled library and—”

Hermione’s eyes were so round they hurt. And she swallowed a moan.

Had he just said the magic words?

Her heart thudded to a stop in her chest, and a flood of uncertainty washed through her. “You… you moved the library outside?” What had those poor books ever done to him! Even if they were in a… but did he just say climate-controlled…? 

“Moved? Oh, heavens no!”

“Ah…” The butterflies in her stomach swarmed, and she tried to tamp them down, even as her heart skipped as he looked down at his cup, fumbling with it like an awkward teenager.

“I made another one. In case y—anyone felt like having a nice read outside in the garden. With precious, archaic, climate-sensitive historical relics and scrolls.” He shifted in his seat, ran a hand too casually through his hair; pressed his lips together and swallowed, clearing his throat. “Or, you know, paperbacks.”

—Unsuccessfully. She was quite unsuccessful in controlling those raging butterflies. Dreadfully so. Because now she would have given damn near anything to see this pinnacle of modern charm engineering that was catered to preserving BOOKS. Oh heavens help her, she may need a new pair of knickers.

Her mouth dry, Hermione nodded. “That’s… quite impressive. Do you read there, too?”

“No.”

Ah. She felt her brows retreat back to their Standard Disappointed In Sirius glower. Well, that was a welcome relief, she thought, only mildly disappointed. For a second there, she’d been…

“It’s where I compose. A… creative conservatory.” He glanced up from his cup at her, his shoulders tense. 

Meanwhile, Hermione’s blood pressure rose again as she remembered—was absolutely not fixated, by any stretch of her vivid imagination—him saying, “lick”, and she re-doubled her glare. There. That should fix it.

“Would you... “ Seeing her glower, his voice trailed off. Then he shook his head, glancing down at his cup again.

“Never mind,” he sighed, voice quiet. For the first time in ages, he sounded his true, tired age.

Also for the first time, Hermione felt the butterflies dissipate almost sadly when he hadn’t offered to share more with her.

********************

“How goes the battle?” Harry’s voice carried over the mobile phone Hermione positioned in front of her on the ancient, filigreed desk in Sirius’ (now quite bright and inviting) study. She tapped the speaker button on, grateful for the magic-dampeners she had set around it. The size of tic tacs, they had come in particularly handy around her more sensitive electronics.

She blew out a long breath, and stretched. “My head is bloody but unbowed,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“The finances? Actually, far, far better than expected. Thank heavens for Aquilon. I do need to speak to Sirius about some of the ways he’s filed these receipts, though. Do you know what “Worm Bait” could refer to? Or maybe “Asylum”?”

“Nope,” lied Harry through his teeth. “You could ask him, though.”

“He’s practising right now. If he’s being productive, I don’t want to take him away from it,” she said. She shuffled the pile she finished, to neaten it. “Also, it keeps him out of my hair.”

“Ah, how goes the hair?”

“It’s behaving, no thanks to your trouble-making. How is the search for the new manager going?”

“A bit slow, but we have some good candidates. The Aurors are vetting the ones you reviewed. We’re being extra thorough, just like you instructed on your ‘memo’.”

“It wasn’t that long.”

“It was forty two pages with another ten in appendix. On telling us how to do our jobs.”

“I included some very useful insights into Muggle search methods,” she retorted. “I still think we can give a broader range to the Wizard Wireless Internetwork another go.”

“Until we have more legislation in place to protect minors from accessing that much wizarding pornography—”

“How was I to know that was the first thing the Wizengamot would search for at the initial inquiry! On the projector. In front of an audience…”

Harry sighed. “Yes,” was all he said.

“You should never have let yourself be filmed doing that, you know,” she muttered.

She could tell Harry was staring at the ceiling, praying for patience, going by how strained his voice was. “Hindsight is 20/20. Unfortunately.”

They were quiet a moment as Hermione moved on to another batch of papers.

“I spoke to Malfoy the other day,” he said.

Hermione smirked. “Junior or Senior.”

“Junior. About Senior.”

“I hope you gave him my regards.”

“Stop snickering like that, it’s… kind of giving me the creeps, to be honest. Actually, we did talk about you a moment. Malfoy—Junior—said he was looking to talk shop with you—”

“Pick my brain over a meal so he doesn’t have to say he had to ‘ask’ me for help or list me as a consultant.”

Behind Hermione, the sound of footsteps thudded calmly down the hall; she ignored them in favour of turning up the volume on her phone. 

“—true enough. Anyway, he wanted to sit down with you sometime soon. Will you be free for lunch any time this week?”

Glancing at her schedule, she evaluated their options.

“You said the Aurors won’t be finished those BG checks for another how long?”

“At least a few days.”

“Then yes. I have some time. I can’t move forward with my next step until they give me some answers.”

“Right. I’ll floo Malfoy and get back to you with a time.”

“Do thank his excellency for deigning to speak with and accommodate me in his schedule.”

Harry laughed. “He would say the same right back at you, you know. You two are more alike than you realize.”

“And exactly why we need to be supervised when we interact. We’d off each other, otherwise.”

“It’d be a helluva show, though.” Harry was grinning, she knew. She could hear it in his voice.

“So is Cirque du Soleil.”

“Cirque is far less dangerous. As a performer.”

“Granted,” she said, smiling, too.

“Anything else you need while you’re on sabbatical?”

“A sabbatical.”

“... Did I tell you the moat’s done and looks fantastic?”

“Wonderful. Fill it with crocodiles.”

She heard Harry swallow.

“And those little birds that like to sit on the crocodiles and feast on their parasites.”

Harry remained silent.

“Crocodiles, Harry. Big ones, small ones, some the size of your—” She sang out, only for Harry to choke on his own spit.

“Crocodiles. We’ll… we’ll see to that for you.”

“Thank you, Harry. You’re a dream.”

“I’m also bordering on debt.”

“Hmm. Time to make another video, then?”

********************

In his sanctuary, surrounded by windows on all sides, Sirius strummed Sisqo. Yes, he was supposed to be practising. Or composing. Or something vaguely productive. His mind was distracted, though.

Due to the indoor renovations her own home was undergoing, she’d agreed to work from his study that day. He’d thought it would be an excellent opportunity to convince her to try out his new in-ground, twelve-person hot tub with built-in back massagers. Preferably slightly naked. Somehow she’d found the willpower to decline and insist she was happy to toil away in the damn study. Worse still, fully clothed. A tragedy he still strove to surmount.

When he’d invited her to come work in the ‘gazebo’, his own refuge, she’d blinked in temptation, but insisted again the study was more appropriate.

Damnit all, what did a man have to do to get her attention? He was sure the conservatory-slash-garden-library would do the trick.

What was he missing?

Did she… good heavens, was she already interested in someone else?

No, he decided. Harry would have told him if that were the case.

Wouldn’t he?

Pursing his lips, Sirius looked around his studio once more before calling it a morning. He would have more time to practice again later.

He stepped into the hallway that led to the study just in time to hear Harry and Hermione’s voices.

Then his heart sank into his stomach.

Hermione was… meeting with Draco Malfoy?

Wait. He frowned. Like Hell she was.

“Come, Sisqo. We have work to do! Time for walkies.”

********************

“What do you mean you’re going ‘out’? Out where? When? For how long?”

“For… work?”

Hermione glanced at Sirius balefully. “Really?”

“Mm-hmmm,” he said, his voice higher than he’d really meant it to be.

“Because you hadn’t mentioned anywhere on the schedule that you needed to go out today.” She took the opportunity to lean back in the leather seat to stretch her back and roll her neck. Surrounded by paperwork, highlighters and folders of all sizes, she was the anchor to his storm of finances, tethering it all to shore so it wouldn’t be torn asunder by the squall of his… lifestyle.

Sirius nodded to himself mentally and pressed his lips together. “I’m a grown man, Hermione. Technically old enough to be…” Stop that train of thought right there, slam on the brakes. “To manage some affairs of my own without supervision.”

“If you could manage your own affairs, any of them, in any capacity, I wouldn’t be holding Harry’s purse strings by his short & curlies, Sirius. Or yours.” She set down her quill. “What are you doing? Do you need a bodyguard or security detail? Is it shopping? Drinking? Whoring?”

“What a charming life you think I lead.”

“Deflection isn’t working in your favour right now.”

“I’m going to meet with Gerard at a little coffee shop near his home. Possibly a walk with him and his dog. It isn’t a grand adventure,” he said. “I just want to go visit my friend.”

Merlin, he hated how petulant and whiny he sounded. 

“I’m not eight years old. I’m a grown man.”

Her brow spiked.

“You are. With a rather rabid fanbase who track your movements, and who are more than a bit worked up right now with the announcement of your new album. Add the fact that you may be considering taking yourself off the market and they’re a tinderbox waiting for a spark. Don’t feed or underestimate the trolls, Sirius.”

“I feel like I should defend my fanbase, but I still remember what happened in Budapest…”

Both Hermione’s brows lifted to her hairline as her eyes widened.

He waved her concern—and curiosity—off. “Fine. But I don’t want a burly security guard. Someone who’d blend in would be nice.”

“Do you have a preferred company?”

“As the last few ended up being shams that my fanclubs had set up to have their own members get closer to me, unfortunately, no.”

He refused to let Hermione’s deep inhale sway him.

“Let me call in a favour or two.”

“No! Only one person.”

She pursed her lips. “One person. To guard you against the hoards of your fangirls.”

“... and fanboys.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “One big favour, then.”

“Who are you going to call?”

Hermione fixed her level stare upon Sirius, and he may have felt his balls simultaneously tingle and shrivel up under her gaze. How did she do that? he wondered, awed and wanting.

And he realized, fuck, now he wanted her punishment, too.

********************

“You agreed.”

“No.”

“Or you can stay here and hide out in your playhouse.”

“Sanctuary! It’s my sanctuary, thank you. And no.”

Hermione shrugged. “Then you go with your bodyguard. And don’t antagonize him. He’s here to guard you and keep you alive; how alive is up to the two of you. I’m too busy to referee and I’m quite sure he’s too talented to miss.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. I gave you options. Take it or leave it.”

Feeling his body’s twenty some odd years warring with emotion and hormones, Sirius took a deep breath and calmed himself.

“Fine. Come along, Severus.”

“Oh, do I get to dog your steps now? How delightful.”

Sirius’ shoulders tensed. “Did it have to be him?”

“One person. He’s the best in the business. Or, not in the business…. Depending on how you look at it.”

“How you two arranged it so you owed each other favours is...,” muttered Sirius under his breath as he and Severus stepped outside.

When he saw Severus give a slow, sly smirk at him and turn away he should have known better.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the dark wizard purred. 

“And you’re to stay out of earshot. I don’t need my personal conversations all over the paparazzi again.”

“You overvalue your importance,” drawled Severus as they apparated together.

“I should make you swear an oath. Not just for me, but for Hermione, too.”

Severus turned to face Sirius, glancing over the man as if he were dung he’d found clinging to his shoe.

“Hermione and I do not require oaths to do our jobs, Black. We’ve never compromised on… privacy. Or confidences.”

He paused a beat, watching Sirius once more before that hint of a smirk reappeared. “Our exchanges are freely given and consensual, always,” he said, latching onto something he saw in Sirius’ expression.

“Stay behind me,” said Sirius as they approached the café.

Severus was mentally rolling his eyes, Sirius knew it. “I get the privilege of watching your back? Oh, thank you, thank you.”

It would have really pissed Sirius off, if he hadn’t noticed that Severus had been stunning, deflecting, confunding and disabling rabid fans left, right and center since they’d apparated into this quieter, more fashionable area of London, and neither batting an eye nor breaking a sweat as he did so.

Damn, the man was good.

********************  
To Be Continued…

 

AN: Still another few chapters to go. Hope you’re enjoying this! :)


	4. The Clink

“Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”

“Yes.”

“And now he is… defending you from the advances of your adoring legions?”

“Yes.”

Gerard watched Severus drink his tea from a few tables away, zapping the sorry fans with casual deliberation. “He seems quite good at it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Gerard looked at Sirius askance before he burst out laughing. “What’s got into you, man? Do you really miss the mad masses?”

Sirius shook his head. “Not really.”

“Then what is it? Strictly off the record, of course.”

Sirius lifted a hand and rubbed at his face. “I… may have an interest in someone. Who is unavailable to me.”

Gerard looked over at Severus.

Sirius choked on his coffee. “No!”

Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Things were quite intense between the Marauders and Snape way back when, if I recall—”

“For the love of… “ Sirius tilted his head back to glare at the ceiling. “It’s not a bloke.”

Gerard grinned. “No, it’s Miss Hermione Granger, war heroine, Witch Weekly’s Moste Terrifying Woman Award Winner seven years in a row, and delectable manager to Wizarding Britain’s most eligible bachelor.”

Sirius sighed. “Then why did you have to make a comment about him?”

Gerard shrugged. “Why not?”

Sirius looked at his friend so balefully Hermione would have been proud.

“What did you do to necessitate resurrecting old Snape, then?”

“I didn’t. Hermione insisted.”

“How’d she do it?”

“Gerard, the man is not a ghost, he’s not a myth, he’s flesh and blood just like the rest of us.” His jaw ticked.

Gerard caught it. “Aha.”

Sirius clenched his jaw tighter.

“So he owed Hermione a favour?”

“Did you wake up this insufferable this morning, or is it a new trend?”

“New trend. Figuring things out. But anyway, how can I help you with your lady friend troubles? And can I just say, for the record, that I cannot believe I honestly just said that to you of all folk?” Gerard pointed at Sirius.

Sirius sighed. “Neither can I.”

“What is it you need help with, Sirius?”

Stretching his neck as he looked to the side, Sirius ran a hand through his hair, digging his fingers in deep and pulling it tight for an extra moment.

“Hermione. Mostly.”

Gerard nodded. 

“And you don’t like that she’s put Severus on rockstar-sitting duty,” surmised Gerard, leaning back in his seat again.

“Or…”

“Or that you aren’t sure what the relationship is or was between the two of them.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at a smirking Gerard.

“And he’s probably made not so subtle hints that it was a mutually satisfying arrangement?”

“Christ, man, were you following us?”

“No, but I could read it in both your body language.”

“Am I that much of an open book?”

“Only to those who know you. Or watch you. Which is why it is probably a good thing your Hermione has been keeping the hounds off your trail for the last few days.” Gerard sipped his coffee. “What is the problem between you and Hermione?”

“She isn’t paying any attention to me.”

“She’s paying you plenty of attention.”

“Not the kind of attention I want. Need.”

Gerard’s face relaxed. “Sirius, mate, have you asked yourself why?”

“Why what?”

“Why she isn’t paying you the kind of attention you want.”

“No, how would I know that?”

Gerard looked at him.

Sirius lifted his eyebrows, causing Gerard to sigh.

“Think, Sirius. How does she treat you?”

“Like I’m…”

It was Gerard’s turn to raise his eyebrows at Sirius, meaningfully.

“I’m….”

Gerard made a ‘keep going’ gesture with his drink.

“I’m a handsome, talented man with too much money?”

Gerard closed his eyes.

“You’re counting to ten, I can tell, you know. Hermione does it an awful lot.”

Gerard put his cup down and folded his hands together. “Right,” he said, crossing his legs over in reverse. “Perhaps we need to,” he raised his hand, and lowered it. “Tweak that inflated sense of self, just a touch,” he insisted, “to bring you back into normal levels of self-confidence. Instead of risking conceit, we’re going to aim for humility.”

“Isn’t that what I do when she zaps me?”

“No. That’s… I’m pretty sure there’s a kink for that, and I won’t join you on that path, so don’t take me down there. You spoke in our interview about accepting your pasts; you need to honestly accept yourself, too. I’m saying that Hermione sees you as a man-child. A misbehaving toddler. Someone who can’t take care of themselves. And a woman like Hermione Granger does not set her sights on someone she has to nappy-watch, Sirius. She will look for a competent, accomplished, intelligent man who can teach her things.”

With a meaningful glance across the café, Sirius followed Gerard’s gaze as it settled on a familiar head of long, dark, stringy hair that shielded an unfortunately long, though admittedly striking, patrician nose.

“That, mate,” said Gerard, leaning forward with a subtle nod of his head in Severus’ direction as the ex-Death Eater twitched his wand and downed a team of a half-dozen crazed fans without taking his eyes off his book, “is what Hermione Granger would want. And has probably had.

“And you know it.”

Sirius watched Severus as he worked. Irritation, insecurity and anger welled within him.

Gerard pulled his attention back to their conversation once more.

“Now, do you know why Hermione doesn’t give you the attention you want?”

Sirius nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

“And what do you need to do to get the kind of attention you want from her?”

Sirius stared at Severus a moment, before his brows knit in contemplation and he leaned towards Gerard again.

Gerard sighed and leaned back again, making a variation of his ‘go ahead’ gesture again.

Sirius nodded, steepling his fingers, his mien serious. “So, I need to get an ugly arse, soul-sucking tattoo and kill people while I work with young children?”

Gerard wiped a hand down his face. And groaned in suffering behind his palm.

“I’m getting close, aren’t I!”

“Sirius, mate, if you could give me a minute. This sounds like it’ll be a two-coffee minimum talk...”

********************

Four coffees and three hours later, Sirius bounded back into Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Severus languidly following behind him.

“Honey, we’re home!”

“Severus, is that you, too?”

“Unfortunately,” drawled Hogwarts’ former Potions Master from behind the master of the house.

“Did you miss me?” cried Sirius, eyes overbright as he beamed at Hermione.

For her part, Hermione ignored him and turned to their guest. “How did it go?” she asked Severus, inviting him through to join her in Sirius’ kitchen.

“I’m here safely!”

“Yes, I can see that,” said Hermione tiredly. “Severus? Tea?”

“The usual,” he murmured, seating himself and pulling a chair out for her when she collected the tea things.

“I’d like tea!”

“And I’d like to tranquilize you! Now would you go to your shed and leave us in peace!”

Severus glanced up sharply from his cup, coming to stand in front of Hermione as her voice cracked on her shriek.

The men stared at her. Her face flushing, Hermione hid behind her shaking hands.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot to do today, I’m not feeling myself. Sirius, just…go.”

“But I can—”

“You heard the lady,” snapped Severus, curling around Hermione and reaching for her trembling hands. “Remove yourself or you will be removed,” he tossed over his shoulder. He leaned in closer to her, murmuring to her as the hysterical woman trembled.

“But… This is my house.”

Behind Severus’ looming figure, Hermione gave a strangled giggle.

“He’s right,” she sighed, tremulous laughs filtering through.

“That does it,” grit out Severus, rising to his full height. He spun on his heel and swept towards the kitchen fireplace, snapping up the jar of floo powder and returning to collect Hermione.

“You’ve been burning yourself out on favours for Potter long enough. You need to rest!”

“I—”

“No excuses!” He collected Hermione in his arms, sweeping her close to him as he marched to the floo and threw in a generous handful. “Hermione Granger’s home!”

“I’ve got a lovely bunch of crocodiles, doodle-ee-doo-doo, look at them all swimming in a row, two-three-four, big ones, small ones, some the size of your—”

With a whoosh of green flames Hermione’s mad sing-song notes were captured and smothered in the fireplace.

—leaving Sirius standing alone in his kitchen.

“Crocodiles?” He asked himself aloud.

He picked up his mobile (which Hermione had helpfully duct-taped some knobby-things on, so it would work in his house—useful things, those—and dialed.

“Harry?... Yes, of course it’s me. Anyway, sorry to interrupt. Could you please tell me where I could find some crocodiles?... Yes…. Yes… Yes, I’m serious. No… No, she’s not, actually, she’s just flooed home with… Okay, well, when you put out the fire and clean up the… yes, you’ll call me? Great! Thank you, talk to you later!... Bye.”

With a beep he turned off his phone and looked around his kitchen.

Well, there was a nice pot of tea ready, and he knew just what to do with that!

“Hmmmm…” he said to himself as his hands shook on his fifth cup of caffeine that day. “May need to hold off on practising today. Perhaps a bit of Quidditch?...”

********************

The Prophet’s headlines the next day rankled Sirius’ mood something awful.

Former War Heroes Reunite—In Each Others’ Arms?

In the wee hours of the morning, former Hogwarts Headmaster, Death Eater, War Hero, Order of Merlin First Class and Potions Master Severus Snape was seen exiting the private domicile of War Heroine Hermione Granger, whose qualifications can be seen in the endnote of this evening’s special edition, “The Qualifications and Titles of Ms Hermione Granger”. Under cover of night this pair, who once were rumoured to have been quite the post-war item, separated quietly on her doorstep around 5:37:12 AM. Neighbours commented on the extensive renovations work being completed on the Granger residence recently, suggesting it could be the pre-move-in work to accommodate the addition of a significant potions laboratory on site, possibly in preparation for the Potion Master’s own permanent arrival.

Those in the confidences of Ms Granger and Master Snape refused to comment on allegations of romantic involvement between the two, however many others are suggesting it could be the hottest scandal of the year if it proves true.

Adding fuel to the flames of rumour is the fact that a business associate very close to Master Snape admitted the taciturn man had considered a long-term arrangement with Ms Granger to be “less than torturous”, which leads this journalist to conclude he is obviously still head over heels for the Brightest Witch of her Age.

Could Master Snape and Ms Granger make it as a romantic couple? We got your feedback in our ‘Speak on the Street’ section! See pages 4 to 14 for your reactions to this potential announcement.

Sirius blinked.

His moue was pronounced as he flipped the paper over. And promptly broke out in a huge smile.

“Aha! There we are! That’s what we wanted—”

And he spent the morning gazing at the full-page spread of colourful wizarding pictures that had captured him and some of his mates atop their brooms at a nearby quidditch park.

“Oh! That’s a great shot of me. I’ll have to see if I can get that one framed,” he said to himself with a smile. “Oy, Hermio—!…” He paused, remembering he hadn’t seen her since the day before. “Hm. Right. Well, I’ll have to show her when she stops by later.”

********************

When Hermione didn’t stop by later, Sirius wandered around his manse. He looked around the rooms. He washed his laundry. He looked over the gardens. He peeked out the windows, even the door—and waved, when a fan or twenty spotted him and erupted in wild screaming, begging for news of his album, for a pair of his underpants, to be his enchanted love-slave chained to his bed or vice-versa. Hm. Perhaps Hermione had a point about him not wandering off unaccompanied.

Hmph. With the doors and windows closed, however, it was a bit quieter than he was accustomed to. The house seemed a bit large for just him.

Was it always so… lonely?

What did he normally do on his own, he wondered, unused to having so much being competently handled by a proper manager.

His schedule! Of course, he should really check his schedule. Was he supposed to be somewhere today?

He made his way to the study where Hermione had been working and peeked through the folders, finding a copy of her notes and outline for the day.

• 10:30 AM: Hex Sketch, Cuckold Row, Diagon Alley. Brunch with D. Malfoy.   
• 1:00 PM: Home. Review F-2-F interview questions for screened manager candidates  
• 5:00 PM: Home. Discuss long-term arrangements w/ Severus—

Blinking, Sirius snapped the parchment down before casting a tempus charm. 11:02 AM.

Well. Perhaps he’d indulge in Second Breakfast, like a good little hobbit. A good little hobbit who would be very happy to knock a Malfoy off his block if he’d so much as touched his Precious.

********************

Draco lifted his hands and grinned at Hermione as she glowered at him.

“Just saying. Nice job ruffling the feathers of his fans by keeping him secluded for the week leading up to the release.”

“I don’t have time to deal with his psychotic fans. I am trying to unload him onto someone competent so I don’t have to—”

“Hermione! Malfoy,” greeted Sirius, striding to their private table at Hex Sketch.

“—be surrounded by idiots,” Hermione finished, shoulders slumping.

Looking up at Sirius who loomed over their food, Malfoy turned back to Hermione and topped up her wine glass generously.

“Would you care to join us, Cousin?”

“If you insist—”

“He doesn’t—oh bother,” muttered Hermione, automatically reaching for her freshened glass. She nodded once at Malfoy, who just grinned back at her in triumph.

“You’re dressed up,” remarked Sirius, his eyes raking over Hermione. “You look like a proper lady today.”

Malfoy’s look of unholy glee wasn’t making Hermione feel any more charitable.

“I think he means you look lovely today. Took my advice, finally?” Malfoy preened as he smirked at Hermione. It was disgusting and unfortunate that he still maintained his handsomeness as he did so, in her opinion.

“I didn’t do this for you,” she snapped, stabbing at her quiche. “I did this because I’m tired of the Prophet seizing up near-sexually when they snap unflattering photos of me when I step outside my door. Going for a brunch with you, Malfoy, meant a distinct increase in that risk. Oh for—,” she gripped her fork a bit tighter, her knuckles whitening, as another muffled click sounded, not far off. “See? With you here now, it’s just going to get worse,” she moaned at Sirius.

“Thanks, for that,” said Malfoy to Sirius, wide grin still in place. “Think we’ll make it to the front page again, now that my Cousin’s joined us?”

Hermione sighed and let her fork drop to her plate.

“Subjected to the charms of two Blacks at once, they’re going to have a field day with this,” she muttered at the table.

“Especially after this morning,” said Draco.

“What happened this morning?” Hermione looked at him. Then over to Sirius.

“Uh… I played quidditch yesterday, it was in the Prophet this morning. I brought a copy to show you—”

Draco’s eyes widened, but his smile never wavered. “Braver man than I.”

“Doesn’t take much,” quipped Hermione.

Draco ignored her, instead eyeing Sirius warily. “You may want to wait until you’re in a more private setting before revealing that, Cousin.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Granger, did you read the Prophet this morning?” asked Draco.

“No. I woke up a bit late, my sleep kept getting interrupted, and I rushed over here as fast as I could so I wouldn’t be late. Why?”

“There’s a great shot of me playing qui—” Sirius lifted the paper up and opened it to show her, but Hermione ripped it out of his hands.

She gawped at the front page.

“What in—”

Click!

“Cheque, please.” Draco lifted a finger and caught the eye of a waiter. “One bill, thanks.”

********************

“And in this room,” said Hermione, Harry close behind her, “I need to be able to activate a repetitive portkey.”

“A repetitive portkey,” he repeated, looking at Hermione.

“A repetitive portkey,” she confirmed. “So I touch a piece of the wall, here, just outside in the corridor, and everyone in the room is portkeyed somewhere else. I have the design ready.”

“We can design the room however you like, but you may need to do the charms work on that one. So, it isn’t the person who touches the portkey who is moved…”

“But rather the person inside the designated area it is keyed to,” said Hermione, encompassing the room before her with a gesture.

“... let me get back to you on that one.”

“There’s a rush on this one, Harry. I’ll be needing it very shortly, I expect,” said Hermione as they returned to her freshly renovated kitchen.

“Of course there is,” he sighed. “By the way, here are those background reports.”

She purred as she accepted them. “Excellent.”

********************

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…”

“Heeeeere kitty, kitty, kitty…”

Glancing up from the financial report she was reading in bed, Hermione glanced down the hall. “Crooks?”

“Mraow.”

“Is someone trying to bait you into opening the floo for them?”

“Mraow.”

Hermione shook her head and returned to her reports. Well, Sirius’ report. It was one of the last ones she had to go through, and while she had not figured out what ‘Worm Bait’ referred to, she at least felt more confident in his financial standing. Namely that unless he bet his entire fortune—in that exact wording—on something that was obviously doomed to spectacular failure, the man would never lack for money, in any lifetime.

“Heeeeeeere kitty, kitty, kitty… See what nice treats I have for you?”

“Mraow.”

Fwoosh!

Hermione’s eyes shot open as she stared at the corridor—

“That’s a good kitty. So you like smoked trout? I’ll remember. That’s a good kitty.”

—Then narrowed, recognizing the voice.

Summoning her dressing gown, she wrapped and cinched it tight and strode to the floo. 

“Traitorous bastard,” she hissed. Then her nose picked up on a different scent, a familiar one.

Still dusting himself off from the floor, Sirius’ eyes went wide. “But I—”

“Not you! You,” she said, turning to look at her kneazle as it gnawed on the stinky fish. Crookshanks ignored her, too pleased with his treat.

“—so does that mean I’m—?”

Hermione rubbed at her forehead. “What is it, Sirius?”

“Ah, well, I was in the neighbourhood and I wondered if you’d like to go out for dinner. With me.”

Hermione close her eyes. “It’s nine thirty, Sirius.”

“Tea and cake, then?”

“I’ve already eaten.”

“I can go get a nice bottle of wine.”

“I’ve brushed my teeth.”

“Would you like any help brushing your hair? I’m told I’m very good with my h—”

Silently, Hermione lifted a hand. He stilled.

“What is this really about, Sirius?”

He shifted his weight, slid his hands in his pocket. “I was in the neighbourhood and—”

She lifted her hand again, raising tired eyes to him.

“Sirius?” she asked calmly.

He cleared his throat, looked at the ground, before meeting her eyes. 

“I wanted to come see you.”

“You’ve seen me. Now, could you please—”

“I missed you. I’m lonely. I want to see more of you. When this is all done, I mean. Even now. I…” He struggled for words, and Hermione felt herself flush and pale and shook her head, her hands trembling as she collected the jar of floo powder.

“No. No, I think it’s a bit late for… for talking. I think you should—” she stumbled over her words, ignored Sirius and his young-but-old eyes as they pleaded with her. 

“Hermione, just give me a chance. I’m not the fool man I was, or the young brat you think I am, I’m—”

“Leaving,” she said quickly, interrupting him before he said something that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, think further on right now.

He took a tentative step towards her, and reached for her hand. “Please, Hermione, all I want is a ch—”

“Go. Sirius, it’s late, it’s… no. Just. No. Go, please.” She held the floo powder jar out between them.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“You’re drunk, Sirius. Go home.”

He pouted, but collected a handful of floo powder and turned back to the fireplace.

“I wish you liked me more. I like you,” he mumbled, and stumbled through the floo.

********************

“Why do you need a hangover relief potion?” he inquired silkily.

“Because of my traitorous familiar,” Hermione crabbed, peering up at Severus from beneath the lovely, shady brim of her ballcap. “Please, Severus.”

With a sniff he opened his door wider and allowed her through. “You remember where they are.”

“Thank you,” she said with reverence.

“So, working with him has driven you to drink? Again?”

“Can you not smirk this early in the morning?”

“It’s nearly noonhour, Hermione,” he said, and followed her. He gently removed the cap from her head, and tilted her chin up with the tips of his fingers. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. “Take the headache relief potion, too. You’re going to need it. And two of these Calming Draughts.”

Her shoulders drooped. “I’m that much of a mess?”

“I take it this has to do with Black. Have you read this morning’s Prophet?”

“Fuck, not again.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m beginning to hate hearing what comes after that particular phrase…”

With a low exhale, he steered her towards his couch, gently pushing down on her shoulders so she sat. The potions bobbed along behind him and settled onto the coffee table before her.

“Would you like something to eat?”

She sighed. “Yes, please. And the Prophet? I suppose I should gird my loins?”

He passed her the paper without another word, and made his way to his kitchen.

“Oh, fuck,” came Hermione’s tired response as she read the front page. Then her head fell back against the couch.

“Shall I join you when you retrieve him?” Severus called back to her as he prepared their eggs, just the way she liked them.

She sighed in defeat.

********************

Sirius’ expression soured as he winced and tried to focus on the gaoler and the man who’d accompanied him.

“Black, Sirius—stand and present yourself.”

With a grunt of effort, Sirius heaved himself up from the bench he’d been resting on. 

“Your bail has been posted, and this fine gentleman is here to escort you home. He’s already collected your effects.”

“You aren’t Harry,” Sirius slurred, and Severus sneered at him.

“Obviously.”

“Where’s Harry? Or… or Hermione?”

Severus arched a brow at the dishevelled, bruised, filthy man before him.

“You will see them when you get home. They’re waiting for you. I assure you,” said Sirius, a twisted smirk on his pale, angled face.

Sirius swallowed.

With a pained twist, Sirius looked for the gaoler once more. “Can I stay one more day? Please? Just a few hours.”

********************

“I see you’re keeping the Prophet in business. They’ve had record sales this week.”

“Bugger. Everything,” groaned Sirius, his hands tight in his hair as he stared at the coffeeshop table that separated him from Gerard.

“I didn’t know you had two; are they both functional?”

Sirius’ cheeks burned and he glared at the table.

“According to the girls—and the photos—it looks like they are. And they look very happy. The only way I could make two women that happy at once is if I were to leave a room. Cripes, mate, they broke the mould with you.”

“I ruined everything.”

“No, you didn’t. Everything looks enthusiastically consensual.” Gerard twisted the newspaper to the side, his brows furrowed. “Yep. Very consensual.”

“No, with Hermione. I ruined everything.”

Gerard folded a corner of the paper down. “Why do you say that?”

“She sent Severus to get me out of the clink. She and Harry met me at the house this morning, but since then they haven’t responded to any of my owls or floo calls. Her home has become unplottable. Harry’s told his Aurory office not to accept any of my requests for contact. I’m done. I’ve lost them, Gerard. Because I couldn’t handle talking to Hermione about how I felt about her.”

“As long as you weren’t drunk, Sirius, I’m sure she’ll chalk it up to… Oh.”

Sirius looked away, and toyed with his tea cup.

Gerard nodded to himself and tapped the newspaper with a finger in an off-beat. “You do still have indirect contact with them, though.”

“How?”

Gerard looked over at Severus, who, as last time, had stationed himself several tables away as he hexed off the riff-raff, AKA: Sirius’ fans. They were a bit more aggressive this morning, he noticed. He thought he’d caught the first glimmers of excitement and challenge in Severus’ eyes, at one or two particularly feisty fans. The man really took a perverse delight in stinging people who were a thorn in his…

Sirius blinked as connections were made, and he sighed.

“What do you suggest?” he asked Gerard.

********************

To Be Continued…  
AN: Happy holidays to you, I wrote a fic or two, Happy holidays, Happy holidays, Happy holidays to you!


	5. Firefight

“It would grieve you to not arch your brow in my presence, wouldn’t it?”

“Black.” It was all Severus did to greet him. In Sirius’ own home, no less.

From his place by the doorway, Sirius took a calming breath and entered the room, taking a seat at a desk. “I know we… have never… had a pleasant… interaction. However, I would like to put some of it aside. I have plans to make and need to know what the terms are of your employment. With regards to my safety.”

From his place in Sirius’ living room, reclined on the brown leather settee, Severus lowered the Potions periodical and glanced at Sirius.

“What I mean is, are there hours you work or don’t work? Situations where you won’t be by my side? Who is giving you your directives? Now that I’m home, and you’re still here, and I haven’t broken any laws since I came home, I wondered,” said Sirius.

“I was engaged previously on a single-day contract to ensure your safety to, during, and from a pre-arranged destination. Effective this morning, I entered into a new, more binding contract to ensure your safety and that of those around you, and prevent you from harming yourself or anyone else in the vicinity. The contract is in place until it is reviewed by your new manager.”

“Even while I’m at home?”

“Yes.”

“And when I’m out & about?”

“Yes.”

“And if I go visit someone?”

“You will need to remain in a semi-public area.”

“What if I go visit Hermione?”

Severus snorted.

Sirius’ brow furrowed, his stance widening, his shoulders squaring. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ignoring him, Severus returned his attention to the periodical.

********************

No one took him seriously.

Him. Sirius Black, of the once-upon-a-time Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Though they were the same age (in some respects), Severus didn’t take him seriously. And he’d nearly killed the bastard back when they were students.

Hermione didn’t. Harry didn’t. Gerard… did, to some extent, but also treated him as if he were young and immature.

Sirius stared at his reflection in the mirror. 

If he’d been in his early twenties, and hadn’t spent his youth in Azkaban, this is what he would have liked like.

And somehow, when he’d vanished through the Veil and Hermione had brought him back, somehow during that banishment he’d youthened.

Well, not somehow.

He knew how and why it happened, to a degree. 

He looked to the side, to the photograph of himself, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Remus, taken when he’d joined the Order—the second time. He focused on Harry and Hermione’s smiles.

He knew why he’d come back the way he was.

It was just… more difficult than he’d anticipated, convincing everyone else that it wasn’t a random fluke.

He’d come back for a reason.

He looked at the calendar by his bedside. “Release date!”, and another word, even larger, beneath it, were scrawled on tomorrow’s agenda.

Perhaps it was time to show them he wasn’t the immature, reckless youth they assumed him to be.

********************

“Time to go to the studio!” 

Severus looked up from his latest Potions periodical. “Must we?”

“Yes. Gerard’s waiting. This is the release date of my new album, and he’s giving me another interview.”

“People aren’t sick of you yet?”

“No. Now come on. I’m taking Sisqo. You can… bring that ratty Potions magazine.”

Rising gracefully to his feet, Severus sneered down his nose at Sirius. “I take it we can expect the usual bottomfeeding adulators to be swarming?”

“Yes, yes, you’ll get your daily hex-casting quota in for the day,” muttered Sirius, refusing to roll his eyes at Severus’ version of glee. It sent a cringe shuddering down his shoulder blades.

“Then, lead on,” purred Severus.

********************

“That was Snape. He said he’s on the move with Sirius, to Gerard’s studio at the WWW,” said Harry through the floo.

Hermione tapped the bricks of the fireplace. “He wasn’t due to have another interview this week. It was just the one to build up the anticipation for the album.”

“There’s a big release party tonight, though, I thought.”

Hermione nodded. “Exactly. What’s Sirius up to?”

“I’m sure Snape can handle it.”

“Safety, yes. He wouldn’t mind seeing Sirius hoisted by his own pétard, though. He’s just bastard enough to passively enable it,” she said, tapping an off-beat rhythm until she recognized it as one of Sirius’ songs and stopped.

“Your frown says you disapprove, but I hear the temptation in your voice,” said Harry.

“Hmm. I’ve almost finished with the face to face interviews. Have you received all the certifiables?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. I see now why you wanted all those wards. You needed to stop the crazies—and their sects—from getting away again. Yes, everyone you port-keyed over has arrived, safely, snug as bugs in their cells, with your notes and the evidence to back them. We’ll process everything from our side.”

“Good. This stalking nonsense has to stop. I’m sure it isn’t all of them, just a few of them winding up the others, but Sirius has a right to his privacy. And this has been going on for ages, Harry. The poor man really only has one friend. He deserves so much more. He came back for a second chance at life. He deserves to enjoy it.”

Harry eyed his friend shrewdly.

“What?” asked Hermione.

“Nothing,” said Harry, the corner of his lips tugging tellingly. “Anyway, when you finish up the interviews do you intend to nip by the studio?”

“I might.”

Harry stared at her, and she blushed. “Anything you’d like me to pass along if I do go?”

He laughed. “Give the man a break, Hermione. He’s bent over backwards, for you.”

She sighed. “It’s not that simple, Harry.”

“Sometimes, it is, Hermione. And you can’t say he hasn’t made attempts to modernize tradition in order to woo you.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry glanced behind him, then leaned in closer.

“So, Purebloods have traditions, Hermione. I learned about them when I dated Ginny. They show you their financials. He did that, right?”

“Yes.”

“And they give you a tour of their properties. He did that, too, right?”

“... Yes.”

“And they provide proof of good health and fertility. He… well… that was perhaps more public than he’d intended, but he made good on showing he could, uh, how to say this delicately… uh…”

That he had two functional… Hermione blushed, remembering the Prophet’s animated photos and the ‘censoreship’ banners that had gamely tried to keep up with Sirius’, er, activity. Unsuccessfully. “... Yes…”

“And he has shown he can provide for you for the future to come, right?”

Remembering how he’d asked her not to zap his hands, and how he was releasing his album today, and how the pre-order sales had outfetched any other record to date in wizarding history, Hermione began to feel a bit faint. “Yes,” she said.

“Then… perhaps ask him why he came back to us our age, instead of his age, Hermione,” said Harry gently. 

“Harry James Potter, what do you—”

“Oops, gotta go, ‘Mione. Work calls. I hope your interviews finish up well, and I’ll talk to you later!”

“Harry, you get back here right—damnit!” She huffed, yanking her head back from the floo.

Breathing heavily, Hermione forced herself to sit quietly for a moment to regain her composure.

Two interviews left. She could do this. And then she’d go chase down Sirius at the studio.

Meanwhile…

With a small flick of her wand, she summoned the wizarding wireless to her side, and turned it on low. She could listen in between interviews.

She glanced at her watch. Still another few minutes before the next candidate arrived. 

Her foot began to tap in wait.

********************

“And folks, we have a special treat for you today: twice in one week, is the incomparable Sirius Black!”

The background cheering filtered through as Sirius took his seat across from Gerard.

“A bit more crowded in here today,” he remarked, looking around at the staff, guests, and hangers on who’d made it into the now-packed studio. Hmm. Hermione’s wards had been quite strong, then. He hadn’t realized.

“You’re a popular man, Sirius. And I see you have a lovely new assistant with you tod—ouch! And a sensitive one, too,” said Gerard. From the stained couch, Severus retracted the wand he’d poked overtop of his Potions periodical.

“A might touchy, that assistant,” grinned Sirius, winking knowingly at Gerard.

“Yes, well, I know you have some important news to share—out with it! No beating around the bush this time!”

“As you all know,” Sirius looked around the studio and made eye-contact with some of the fans, “my new album is released this evening. We are finally revealing the title. I hope you all enjoy “Hallowcinogenics”. It’s been a long, long time in the making.”

The crowd went wild at the news, stomping and cheering, some screaming. The ‘privacy’ screen shuddered with the force of their outcry, and Sirius eyed it before turning back to Gerard.

“Mate, I think they didn’t quite hear you. Perhaps you should sing for them, to see if we can lull them into a calm to discuss it,” winked Gerard. It’ll hold, don’t worry, mate, he mouthed to Sirius.

“I think we can accommodate that,” said Sirius. “Sisqo, heel!”

********************

Down to the last interview for Sirius’ new manager. 

Hermione looked at her notes, her expression grim. Even with the Aurors pre-screening candidates, a few of the obsessed and dangerous fans had wormed their way through. When they’d given up enough details to provide evidence of stalking, she’d terminated the interview and shipped them off to Harry and his team of awaiting Aurors. Cripes. This mission had been on-going for nearly a year and she was tired. She wanted her own life back, and sympathised with Sirius. It was a helluva sting operation and she’d had to re-fit her entire house to make it work, but hopefully this would be the last of them for a long, long time.

Still, one left, she told herself, and smiled as she opened the door to the last applicant.

“Hi! I’m Her—”

“Hermione Granger. Best friend of Harry Potter. Acting-manager for Sirius Black.”

Hermione’s smile was fixed on her face as she met the overwide, unblinking stare of the woman in her mid-twenties with short, spiky blond hair.

“Yes, thank you for coming. I trust you found your way here okay?”

“Yes.” Still no blinking.

Right. “Please follow me, I’m having all the interviews—”

“Inside. Your home.”

Oooooh, this was going to be a doozy. Hermione loosened her wand slightly from its case on her wrist. “Yes. Would you care for water, or juice?”

“No. No thank you.”

“I see you have experience with a number of independent artists,” said Hermione as they settled in the living room-slash-‘portkey lounge’. 

“Yes.”

Hermione had already written the woman off as a potential candidate, but didn’t have enough on her yet to send her to the Aurors. Why had she applied?

“Could you tell me a bit about yourself, and why you think you’d be a good fit with Sirius and his management team?” (Well, with Hermione, who would no doubt still be involved with some things. But this woman didn’t need to know that.)

“I like to learn about people. Especially those who are resilient.”

“It’s a good sign, seeing you take such a human interest in your clients.”

“My pets.”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” said Hermione, still smiling.

“My pets. They need to be taken care of. I take excellent care of them.”

Hermione felt the hair on her arms and neck standing straight up; mentally she calculated just how quickly she could reach the portkey switch. “And can you tell me why you think you would be a good fit with Sirius, his schedule and lifestyle?”

“I didn’t apply to look after Sirius.”

“Oh.” Hermione tightened her grip on her wand inside her sleeve. Her instincts were screaming at her, begging her to remove herself from the room. “May I ask why you applied, then? Was it interest in the industry?” Damnit, she needed something on the woman, anything, to give her something he Aurory could prosecute her for. Otherwise she’d go free. And every last fibre of Hermione’s body was vibrating with the fact the woman across from her was dangerous and mad as a hatter. Proving it was another matter.

“I came to put you down, Hermione Jean Granger. You’re in the way.”

And then Hermione was staring at the end of the woman’s rather distressed wand.

Well, fuck.

********************

The privacy screen had been reinforced several times by the studio staff, and still shook with each buffet of the crowd’s pressing. 

Sirius looked at Gerard and noticed him assessing their ‘shield’.

“Well, let’s have another song from Sirius, folks!”

The screen pressed inwards, and Sirius noted cracks from the edges under the most duress, where they ‘connected’ with the floor.

“Gerard, I think my voice may be acting up from the cold. Perhaps we should—”

“You’re right, you’re right, of course. We’ll go with a quieter number, like a lullaby. How does that sound, listeners?”

Their mad cheers sounded even closer. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Snape glance around the room, then down at… something he was holding in his hand. Sirius’ brow furrowed. Snape’s face had tensed. The former Potions Master’s head snapped up and his eyes met Sirius’. 

A curl of unease unfurled in Sirius’ belly at the intensity of Snape’s stare.

“Sirius, are you up for a lullaby?”

“A-a short one, yes,” said Sirius, turning back to Gerard.

“And will Sisqo be accompanying you?”

“Always.”

The strains of elegant, worldly music floated from Sirius’ guitar through the air towards the crowds, soothing and petting them in their wake; however, instead of calming them, the crowds surged in an attempt to get closer.

Sirius opened his mouth to sing and caught sight of Snape lunging to his feet and dashing across the room towards him, just as the screen buckled in a shattering crack. Shrieks and cries rang out around them and over the airways, and Gerard leapt to his feet, placing himself between Sirius and the mad crowd.

“Brace yourself,” commanded Snape, who wrapped himself around Sirius and whirled in a black cloud of cloak and magic.

“Where are we going?”

“Hermione’s in danger.”

The screaming hoard of fans lost all control as their hero was whisked away, and Sirius’ own breath was torn from his throat in the muted crack of apparition.

********************

“Confringo!”

“Expelliarmus!”

A chunk of plaster and dust exploded behind Hermione’s head as she dove out of the way.

“Filthy whore! It’s because of you none of us ever had a chance with Sirius! Decapitatus Terriblus!”

“Fucking hell,” Hermione coughed and choked on dust as she rolled to the side, ever-closer to the portkey switch. Just a few more feet—

“Need a hand?”

Her eyes shot open as she recognized Sirius’ hand reaching towards her. “Fucking Christ, get out of—”

“Sectum Entiera!”

“Argh!”

“Sirius!”

Hermione whipped around, placing Sirius and his mangled stump of arm behind her as she rose up and slashed her wand at the crazy woman.

“Avada keda—” Hermione shrieked at the madwoman.

The room flashed as the portkey activated.

She felt a strong, reassuring arm grab hers, lowering her wand.

“We’re getting you both to St Mungos,” said Severus, his voice low and calm. “Sirius, for god’s sake, stop bleeding everywhere.”

“Sorry, your fucking highness. I didn’t know we were apparating into an armed conflict.”

“What kind of conflict did you think we were—oh, nevermind, your bloodloss will shut you up soon enough. Here we go,” sighed the former Death Eater.

With another dramatic whirl of midnight cloak and magic, they apparated to St Mungos.

********************

To Be Continued…

AN: Epilogue up next! Thank you for reading. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

 

_Several Days Later_

 

“So, this was a sting operation?”

 

“Yes,” said Shacklebolt, as they all sat around Sirius’ garden conservatory. Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Severus, Harry, and several other members of the Aurory, on hand to protect Minister Shacklebolt, lounged around in the veranda-styled building after a soak in the hot tub. Not naked.

 

“Harry and Hermione had become quite agitated at the level of activity from some of your fans. It came to a head over a year ago and they demanded I do something about it before they stepped in to do it on their own,” explained the Minister.

 

“Hermione and Snape are actually a deep-cover team, most of the time. She puts in appearances at HQ from time to time, when we need a few people flushed out, but usually she and Snape work behind the scenes.”

 

“That’s why you said…” Sirius turned to Severus, and the former Potions Master merely blinked.

 

“Anyway, Hermione had been concerned in the escalation of attempts to get to you through physical means, and after several attacks on your residence—”

 

“They—!”

 

“Yes,” said Harry.

 

“—it led to the pair of them threatening to quit if we didn’t protect the privacy of our citizens better.”

 

“Wow,” said Sirius, staring at Harry and Hermione. “Is that why you two were fighting?”

 

“Mostly,” said Hermione with a shrug.

 

“So, anyway, it took a while for us to gather enough surveillance to determine who the biggest threats and organizers were, then come up with a plan to lure them out in the open with the new search for your ‘manager’, and then trap them. In the end, it came down to whose house we’d use as bait. We didn’t want to risk yours, for obvious reasons.”

 

“So then Harry and I decided it had to be one of ours.”

 

“And we went with Hermione’s, since she was less attached to hers.”

 

“Mostly,” she muttered under her breath.

 

“Who else was in on it? Gerard?”

 

“No, he’s an honest friend of yours. I understand he’s still recovering in St Mungo’s?”

 

“He went home yesterday, to the great relief of his wife and children.”

 

“Nasty bit of business, being crushed under 247 people,” said Ron.

 

Severus snorted.

 

“Right, well, otherwise, is everything tied up?” Sirius asked, looking around.

 

“Your house has been fully inspected and deemed a fan-free zone. Ownership of Hermione’s house has officially been transferred over to the Ministry as an Auror-training facility. Gerard’s recovering at home. The crazy manager applicants are all lined up ready for their trials, and enjoying all the warmth and care afforded them in Azkaban’s finest rooms, and while your fingers are still re-growing we have heard that there was no permanent nerve damage expected. Also, your album sales have gone through the roof with all this inadvertent publicity,” said Harry, enumerating items off on his fingers.

 

“Congratulations, Sirius. You have your health, your wealth, and your successes to celebrate!” Cheered Shacklebolt, lifting his tea.  
  
“Hear hear!” chanted Ron.

 

“That’s… wow. And you don’t think the fans will bother me anymore?” asked Sirius, looking towards Harry and Shacklebolt.

 

Harry shook his head. “Well, they’ll still bother you—but the dangerous, obsessive ones who’d been actively hunting you, literally, are behind bars with no chance of parole.”

 

“I thought you said they were awaiting trial?” Sirius asked, his brows furrowed.

 

Hermione’s smiled was feral behind her cup of tea. “They’re behind bars, with no chance of parole. Trust me.”

 

Sirius felt his balls tingling in anticipation. And fear. Gods, she was spectacular.

 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, man, stop making cow-eyes at the girl!”

 

“Severus,” said Hermione, her tone soft and warning.

 

“No, he’s right. Ugh, I can’t believe I just said that…” Sirius shook himself as he reached deep inside and shifted closer to Hermione. “Now that… everything’s mostly wrapped up. I’d like to invite you to dinner. Properly.”

 

“And that’s our cue to leave,” said Harry, setting down his empty tea cup. “Sirius, glad to see you safe and sound. I’ll pop by later for the full tour,” he shook Sirius’ uninjured hand.

 

“Good luck, mate,” said Ron with a grin. “You’ll need it.”

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Ron….”

 

Harry and Ron laughed as they headed back towards the house to let themselves out.

 

“Congratulations, Severus, Hermione, on a job well done. Excellent team work, as always. Congratulations to you, too, Sirius. I don’t suppose you’d mind a quick autograph… for the missus?”

 

“Of course. How shall I address it, Minister?...”

 

“To Mrs (with a very small ‘s’, nearly, well mostly almost unnecessary, really) Kingsley Shacklebolt, a great, non-threatening fan.”

 

Severus snorted, quickly changing it into a cough when Hermione slapped him in the chest.

 

“There we go,” said Sirius, smile in place. “And thank you again, Kingsley. I’ll finally be able to live like a normal celebrity.”

 

“Good luck with that,” laughed Kingsley. “All right, I’m ready to go. Aurors, Assemble!”

 

“You’ve been watching Muggle cinema again, Minister?” asked Hermione, amused.

 

“I do like the action ones,” admitted Kingsley with a wink. “Good job as always. We’ll see you around the office again on Monday, Severus, Hermione.”

 

“Minister,” they said in unison, nodding goodbye. The rest of his Auror detail followed around him in formation.

 

“And don’t you have somewhere you need to be, Snape?” asked Sirius hopefully. He scooted closer to Hermione, casually stretching his good arm up, around and behind her on their comfort-charmed bench.

 

“As a matter of fact, I don’t. I thought I’d spend the day with Hermione, reviewing our case files.”

 

“Damn you, tempting me with work….” Grinned Hermione, before she laughed. “Now, go, and enjoy your own break. I hear there’s a BBC Classic Comedy marathon on the telly tonight. You better go and warm up your VCR so you can record it on magnetotapes.”

 

“Hush, you,” he said, a smile lurking beneath the rough tones. With a casual air he leaned forward and kissed Hermione on the cheek. “You’re always welcome to join. See you Monday.”

 

“See you Monday, Severus. Have a good weekend!”  
  
“And you,” he said, waving as he left for the door.

 

“What about me!” called Sirius.

 

“Fall off a cliff and die in a fire, mongrel. Just return my partner to me in fine working order. I rely on her.”

 

The door clicked shut behind him.

 

“To be clear, is he competition?” asked Sirius, still watching after Severus as if the man would re-appear like a boogeyman.

 

Hermione laughed. “He’s my partner. Me being in fine working order means that he has someone reliable to watch his back.”

 

“But he seemed very familiar with you.”

 

“We’ve been working together for years,” she shrugged. “We’ve seen each other at our best & worst, in some trying situations and less than ideal circumstances.”

 

“Did you two ever….?”

 

Hermione looked at Sirius.

 

“Why would you like to know that?”

 

“Because I kind of want to know if I’m stepping on another’s man’s toes if I invite his woman to dinner with me.”

 

“You’re not stepping on his toes.”

 

“Really? Because after finally being rid of my crazy fans, I’m really wanting to indulge in my newfound independence so I can take a beautiful, intelligent, funny, determined woman to dinner with me.”

 

Hermione’s brow raised. “Not intending to remain independent long, are we?” She smiled at him.

 

“Not particularly, no. I’d like to be independent with another independent person. Like you. Well, only you. Actually, just and always only you.”

 

Hermione swallowed. “I…”

 

“You said no before. Was it because of the investigation?”

 

“Mostly.”

 

“How much is mostly?”

 

“About ninety five percent.”

 

“And the other five percent?”

 

“Well, about four percent was me not being sure if Harry would be okay with it.”

 

“Luckily he is.”

 

She nodded. He scooted closer, their thighs touching as he reached behind her and wrapped some of her hair around his finger.

 

“And the last one percent. What was that?” He asked, leaning towards her, his eyes on her mouth.

 

“Sisqo.”

 

“Sisqo? My guitar?” Sirius looked at Hermione like she had grown a second head, and a not very attractive one at that.

 

“No, I mean, Sisqo is staring at us. Does he do that to all your...company?”

 

Sirius glanced down at his feet, where Sisqo was indeed staring up at them, machine head tilted slightly to the side.

 

“That means he likes you.” He leaned in again, running his hand through her hair.

 

“Oh.” She felt his warm breath on her throat, and bit her lip.

 

“How is the most important one percent feeling now?”

 

“Quite flustered, actually,” Hermione admitted, her fingers clenching in the fabric of her pleated skirt. She bit her lip.

 

Unable to take it anymore, Sirius nearly moaned. “Please go to dinner with me, Hermione. Say yes. I’ll make you so happy.” With butterfly softness, he kissed her throat, turning his body into hers.

 

“I…” Warmth flooded Hermione, frying her brain. “Oh, that feels nice.” Her head fell back slightly as he tugged on her hair with gentle motions, kissing his way more intently down her throat. “I’d like to go to dinner. With you. Okay. Um, the kissing is still okay for now, right?”

 

He chuckled against her throat, and Hermione nearly swooned. _Oh, his voice…_

 

“And more, if my lady wishes,” he murmured against her skin.

 

“Um… is it… is it true?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Um, do you really have… two…”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And they both…”

 

He smirked. “Would you like to find out?”

 

She blushed.

 

He ran his uninjured hand down her shoulders, enjoying the way her skin pebbled in goosebumps.

 

“... would you like to see the Master’s bedroom?”

 

He nipped at her throat once more, and with a sigh Hermione threw caution to the wind.

 

“You mean master bedroom. And yes.”

 

His smirk remained as he winked at her. “Master’s. Trust me.”

 

He took her hand and led her back to the house, revelling in her attention.

 

Finally, she was looking at him the way he looked at her.

 

Well, perhaps not quite as worshipfully. Yet.

 

But she would, he thought to himself.

 

“Sirius? What’s this on your calendar?”

 

_Shit!_   


“It’s—” _Shit-shit-shit-shit—_  
  
Hermione leaned closer, to get a better look at it. “C-O-N-F-E-S-S-I-O-N, with a heart around it? On your release date—”

 

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open as she looked at him. “When you went back to the studio for the other, unscheduled interview with Gerard… live on the air, you were going to…”

 

He swallowed.

 

“You’ll still come to dinner, right? I was going to do it, there.”

 

“Do what?” breathed Hermione.

 

Getting down on one knee, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a velvet box.

 

“Hmph,” he muttered, struggling to open it one-handed.

 

“I can—”

 

“No! I can do this myself. I’ve wanted to do this for too long. I will do it, and do it properly,” he said, voice strong.

 

“Hermione Jean Granger. Will you—”

 

* * *

 

 

The Daily Prophet had a field day with the rumours. Severus and Ron helped plant a number of them, apparently. Ron had always had a deft hand with misdirection.

 

  *          _“Ex-Death Eater affiancéd to former rival and mega-star Black?”_
  *          _“Hermione Granger seen perusing wedding dress shops—forever a bridesmaid, never a bride?”_
  *          _“Unable to cope with loss of Severus Snape to Sirius Black, Hermione Granger adopts cat refuge in hopes of easing her loneliness”  
“Is that a bump or a cake belly on Ms Hermione Granger? We take you inside her stress-eating battle”_
  *          _“Snape-Black-Granger lovechild on the way?”_
  *          _“Snape and Black: Decorating the Nursery the Manly’s Wizard’s Way: Full colour spread on their modern black & white style”_
  *          _“Strange sounds heard emanating from Hermione Granger’s home: rumours of disappearances and dungeon play abound”_



* * *

The End

* * *

 

**AN: Many, many thanks to Uchiha.s for all her assistance with this story. I hope you’ve enjoyed—and if so, please leave some kudos in the comments. It’s sporting to spoil an author. Happy New Year!  (Also, I'm finally learning my way around this site with formatting--this chapter may appear a little differently than the previous ones. Sorry about that!)**


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